Whispers in the Night
by Mystic Lady Fae
Summary: Ghost WhispererPhantom crossover: Melinda Gordon talks to the dead. What happens when she wins a trip to Paris? Full summary on bio page, ErikOC.
1. We Have a Winner

Disclaimer: All things involving Erik and the show **_Ghost Whisperer_** are not mine. Only original creations belong to me.

AN: Hi! This is my new story crossing over the show **_Ghost Whisperer_** and **_Phantom of the Opera_**. For those who have never seen the show, **_Ghost Whisperer_** involves a young woman named Melinda Gordon, a young woman who can talk to the dead (played by Jennifer Love Hewitt, who I usually hate, but actually really like in this roll). She's also able to help them "cross over into the Light," where souls go to be at peace. **_Ghost Whisperer_** takes place in the U.S., but I'm hauling her over to Europe so she can meet my OC. Since Melinda's married (to a really hunky ambulance driver), this will be an OC/Erik story…sort of…its complicated, so you'll just have to read the story to find out! For more info, check out my bio page. Also, _please review_; I want to see if anyone will read this story or not. Thanks!

**Chapter 1: We Have a Winner**:

"Melinda, come on, we're going to be late!" Jim yelled up the stairs.

The sound of hesitant high-heeled shoes could be heard as his wife began her decent. "Jim, I have to know…" Her husband groaned, waiting for the inevitable. "Is the shawl too much for this outfit?"

Jim Clancy could only sigh in good humor as Melinda reached the last step. "Sweetie, it's a party for charity," he said, giving her a loving smile as he picked her up, ignoring her squeals while he set her down in front of the door. "Now, you look great," which he obviously thought was true, "and we are going to be late if we don't leave now." This was actually _very_ true.

Melinda sighed as she patted her long dark hair, making sure it was still in a bun as Jim ushered her out the door and out towards their red SUV. As she sat in the passenger seat, she couldn't help but feel anxious as she smoothed out invisible wrinkles in her white Greek-style dress. The hem just barely brushed her knees, and the straps wrapping around the shoulders and criss-crossing between her breasts made her feel elegant and confident. A white shawl and white heels completed the outfit, which set off the dark eyeshadow and eyeliner that rimmed her brown eyes. Smiling, Melinda turned her gaze to her husband.

Beside her, Jim looked wonderful in his tuxedo, his head nodding along to the music coming through the radio. She was lucky to have such a tall, good-looking man, as well as such an understanding one. A face with strong, chiseled, masculine features, thick black hair, and blue-gray eyes, Jim still attracted the gaze of other women, especially during his job as a paramedic and ambulance driver.

'_Sometimes I think that women pretend to need medical assistance just so they can meet him_,' Melinda thought to herself, smiling at her own joke. '_Still, I'm lucky to have him_.'

"So, are you still hoping that we win that brand new stereo system you entered for?" Jim asked, his teasing voice breaking into her thoughts.

"Oh, no, I'm hoping that you win that blending machine you wanted," she replied, laughing as he shook his head. "Or maybe a new set of chopping knives to replace the old ones?"

"Hey, what can I say, it's the inner chief in me!" he said, grinning as they approached Grandview's City Hall, pulling up to the valet so that a young man could park their car.

Melinda took a deep breath and waited for Jim to open the door and help her out, suddenly very nervous and excited. As the door to the car opened and Jim offered her a hand, a shiver ran down her spine, though she ignored it in favor of exiting the car safely and without injuring herself. Once her feet were safely on the side walk and her arm was wound through her husband's, Melinda turned her head, catching sight of an elderly woman in Victorian dress staring at her helplessly.

A small sigh escaped her lips as she turned towards the front door, the lights and music coming from the ballroom filling the air. Now was not a time to work with the dead; tonight was supposed to be for her and Jim. It had been _forever_ since they had gone out and enjoyed themselves, and she wasn't going to let an extremely old ghost ruin it for them.

"Okay, what's wrong?" Jim whispered into her ear as they entered the crowded hall, the press of _living_ people becoming very welcome to her.

Melinda gave him a half-smile. "Nothing, everything's fine," she said, using the lie she always did in situations like this.

"Nope, you've got that look on your face that says, 'I just saw a ghost that needs helping,'" Jim quietly declared as he led her to the beverage table.

"Well, I'm afraid that I can't help this one," she whispered back, accepting a glass of cherry-flavored champagne from the server. "Too old…I can't help spirits that have been dead over a century…there's no one left in their families for them to make peace with." Melinda took a sip from her glass. "No spouses, no children, even their grandchildren are likely to be dead by now." She smiled up at the concerned look that Jim was giving her. "Not to mention that times are so different now, they would only be confused if I made them realize that they're dead and need to cross over."

Now it was Jim's turn to sigh. "Well, if you're sure." She nodded and the two of them quickly finished off their drinks. Suddenly, he smiled. "Okay, I guess that means I can ask you for a dance?"

His wife just laughed as she set aside her glass and let him sweep her up into his arms.

* * *

The evening was perfect. Melinda was content to just be 'normal' for a bit, chatting with friends, talking to people who frequented her antique store, and dancing the night away with her equally happy husband. Presently, she and Jim were taking a break, standing off to the side and watching others dance around the floor. 

"Some night, huh?" asked Jim, his voice soft and soothing in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

"A great night," she commented, smiling happily.

Suddenly, the music stopped and a gong rang out, signaling the beginning of the drawing. Three weeks previous, most of Grandville's firemen and Emergency Response Teams had begun selling raffle tickets to help raise money for several different charities around the town. Tonight, all of the names were placed in a variety of buckets, a name going into the bucket for the prize the person wanted. So far, a great deal of money had been raised, and now it was time for the drawings.

"So, which to you think we'll win?" Jim asked with a broad grin. "The kitchen appliances, the stereo system, or the washer and drier set?"

Melinda could feel a dark eyebrow quirk on her face. "I don't remember us entering to win a washer and drier," she said, shoving him in the shoulder.

He shrugged his shoulders jokingly. "I'd like our house fully modernized."

"Well, let's just hope that it's something good," Melinda declared as she gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

After they separated, the two of them turned their attention towards the podium, where the mayor was pulling out names. All of the small prizes, such as gift certificates to a few of the town shops or cafes, were quickly done, and they were now moving on the electronics. The stereo went to a teenager, and the washer and drier set went to an older couple who looked more than happy with their prize. Now came the largest and most expensive prize of the evening…

"And the trip to the European city of the winner's choice is…" The mayor reached into the bucket, the entire crowd holding their breath.

For some reason, Melinda's eyes drifted to the bucket itself, and she couldn't help but be confused when she saw the names inside shifting around more than they should be. It could have been the mayor's hand digging around for a name, but the movement was far too vigorous for that.

'_It looks as if something's stirring it around_,' she thought, just as the movement in the clear plastic bucket stopped.

"The winner is…Jim Clancy and Melinda Gordon!" the mayor announced before waving the slip of paper around.

* * *

Melinda was quiet the whole ride home, trying to process what, exactly, had happened. Meanwhile, Jim was talking about how wonderful it would be to go to Europe and see the sights. After their names had been pulled, both she and Jim had been asked to choose which city they wanted to go see, and Melinda had let Jim choose. Of course, Jim had chosen the most romantic place in Europe for them to go to: Paris, France. 

"But we don't speak French!" Melinda had protested.

Her words had fallen on deaf ears, and now Jim couldn't stop talking about a second honeymoon. He hadn't been able to afford a decent honeymoon after their wedding, so this was the perfect chance for them to take a dream vacation to Europe.

"So, what do you think?" he asked, glancing over at his beautiful wife as he pulled into the driveway.

Melinda started in her seat. "What?" she asked.

Jim sighed. "Okay, what's wrong, now?" he asked, keeping his tone patient as he stopped the car and turned of the ignition, waiting for an answer.

"Nothing, let's just…go inside," she said, practically leaping out of the car.

Rolling his eyes, Jim climbed out and followed the rapidly vanishing figure of his wife, closing and locking the front door behind him. Melinda had fled to the bathroom, so he merely slipped out of his tux and into a tank top and sweats. By the time he was comfy on the left side of the bed, Melinda seemed ready to tell him what was wrong. She emerged from the bathroom in her white nightgown and put away her evening dress in the closet. Once that was done, she joined him in the bed, pulling the covers over her lap as she sat up and took a deep breath.

"Okay," she said, heaving a big sigh. "I'll confess."

"Go for it," he replied, propping himself up on his right elbow so that he could look at her.

"Well…" she sighed. "I just…I'm afraid of leaving Grandville, that's all."

Now he was confused. "Why?"

"Because I have so much work I have to do here," she said, wrapping her arms around her bent knees and sighing. "I mean, I help so many people all the time…what if I'm away and someone needs my help?"

Jim sat up straight in bed. "Now I know you're making that up," he said sternly, reaching a hand out to grab Melinda's chin and forcing her to look at him. "I've seen you face down angry spirits, evil spirits, and even helped a hostile spirit while he possessed my body. In all those times, you've never fled or hidden yourself away from it. You're scared about something else. What is it?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes as she spoke. "I _am_ afraid, Jim," she said, her voice soft. "I really am afraid to go to Europe, but for a different reason that the one I just gave you."

"Well, why are you afraid of Europe?" he asked, stating the obvious question. "Tell me!"

Melinda lowered her head so that the right side of her face lay on the tops of her bent knees, her dark eyes focused on him. "I'm afraid of the spirits I'll see over there."

Jim blinked, not comprehending what she'd just said. "Why?"

"Because the spirits over there are all so _old_, so _different_ from those over here!" she said, sitting up straight and throwing her hands in the air. "Europe has so much more history than America does! They've had plagues, wars, executions, the Crusades, the World Wars…there are bound to be countless numbers of restless, angry, and, God forbid," she shivered, "_hostile_ spirits over there! I've seen how they promote haunted hotels over there for ordinary people to go stay at, but I see the actual thing every day! What if I see and hear so many tormented spirits that it drives me insane?"

He hurriedly wrapped his arms around his now crying wife. "Don't worry," he whispered into her hear. "I'm sure it'll be fine. While we're there, all you need to do is focus on me and watch for my reaction to people around us, okay? Besides, it's only for a week or two." He smiled as he tiled her head up to face him. "Besides, we could use a vacation from everything…even spirits!"

Melinda sighed in defeat. "Well, alright," she conceded. "Since it means so much to you, we'll go."

The two exchanged a quick kiss before going to sleep in each other's arms.

* * *

Outside the house of the Seer, Madame Antoinette Giry watched in satisfaction as the light went out on the top floor. The woman was asleep, most likely wrapped in the embrace of her husband. 

"Good night, little one," she whispered, smiling. "Sleep well."

Truly, the young woman up there was innocent and good-hearted, just like her little Meg. Oh, how she missed her darling daughter! Ever since the day she had died, Madame Giry had watched over her daughter, her grandchildren, and the children of all her blood, right up until today. It had been a somewhat pointless thing, given that all her descendants turned out to be decent men and women who had led good lives and had good values instilled in them from the very beginning. However, she had felt the need to wait for the right time and place to help one particular person that she loved so dearly, someone that she had unknowingly disappointed while they had been in her care…the one who still haunted the hallways of the Opera Populaire in Paris.

The thought of that great failure had haunted the old ballet instructor until the day of her death, trapping her in her own personal hell until she had merely opened her eyes one day and found that she was no longer alive. Instead, Madame Giry had found herself staring at her own gravestone, shaking in disbelief at her ill fortune. She had died, and yet, she was still in the realms of the living, a spirit doomed to wander until she felt at peace with herself. That had not happened, not until today.

It had happened right after watching a great-grandchild walk for the first time, and Antoinette had felt a sudden pull to go elsewhere, to someone/someplace that could help her find the peace she had sought for so long. She found herself in a small town on the eastern coast of America, watching those horrible motor devices drive by as a young woman with dark hair opened a shop for the day, a cheerful smile on her face as she waved at passing adults and children alike.

Fascinated, Madame Giry watched as the young woman entered the shop and began her day. To her amazement, the woman talked with others in the shop that were obviously not of the living; a man in an outfit from the time Madame Giry had lived, a child with a ball and stick in his hand, a woman in a short dress with beads dangling from it (which Madame recalled was a 'flapper' dress). It was then that she realized that this Seer of the Dead could help her.

For some reason, Madame feared going to see the woman face-to-face. If she went, it was possible that she would be refused, or would be helped to the afterlife without the spirit still in Paris finding peace themselves. Instead, she had interfered in the drawing for the trip to Europe, stirring the contents until the correct names had fallen into the mayor's hand.

Jim Clancy and Melinda Gordon…the Seer and her husband with the kind heart…

Sighing, Madame Giry closed her eyes, feeling extremely tired all of a sudden; in all her years as a spirit, she had never felt this tired before.

"_Maman_?" called a familiar light voice, one filled with laughter and innocence.

Her eyes flew open as her head jerked up in shock. "Meg?" she called, not daring to believe it.

"_Maman_, it's time to come home," Meg's voice beckoned as a bright light appeared before her. "Come towards the light, Mama! We're all waiting for you!"

Smiling, Madame Giry nodded. She had done her duty. The woman who could help would soon be on her way to Paris. It was only a matter of time before she entered the Populaire and found what she needed to do and who needed her help so desperately.

"I am coming, _petite_!" she called to her daughter, gladly stepping towards the bright, warm glow before her.

It was time to go home…

* * *

AN: Well, what do you all think? Please leave a review and let me know! If no one reads this and gives feedback on how they like/hate it, I'll take it down. For more information on this fic, visit my bio page. Thanks! 


	2. Experiencing Paris

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** or **_Ghost Whisperer_**; I'm just borrowing them for further entertainment purposes (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers).

AN: Hurray for chapter 2! I know that this is coming out rather quickly after the end of "_To Start Anew_," but I got started on it and just couldn't stop writing! I just love it when inspiration hits, don't you? Oh, and please don't forget to review and let me know how the story is going! Thanks!

**Chapter 2: Experiencing Paris**:

Packing for a trip is one thing…packing for a trip to Paris is something else! This Melinda noticed the moment she looked at her fully-packed suitcase and wanted to scream out loud in frustration. Over the course of a week's time, she had managed to switch out each and every outfit she had previously packed and replace it with something else…twice.

"Melinda, please, everything you packed is fine!" Jim said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "You've already gone through that thing a dozen times! Would you please just let it go?"

"Jim, Paris is one of the fashion capitols of the world, and has been for centuries," Melinda said in a lecturing tone. "If I go over there in something shabby or out-of-date, I swear that people will laugh at me!"

Her husband sighed, rolling his eyes once more in annoyance. "Okay, but just be sure to have everything ready for tomorrow afternoon's flight, okay?"

"I promise," she replied with a smile and a kiss. "Everything will be fine after we leave, I promise."

* * *

'_Okay, next time I promise that everything will be fine, I'll have to slap myself_,' Melinda thought as she hauled her carryon suitcase up the ramp and onto the plane. '_Don't make promises that you aren't sure you can keep_!' 

Once the baggage had been stowed up in the overhead compartment, and _after_ she and Jim were both happily seated on the right-hand side of the plane in first class…only then did she manage to take a deep breath and relax. Like a true gentleman, Jim let her have the window seat so that she could watch the view while he 'made sure no strange men put their hands on _his_ beautiful wife.'

"Well, at least we made it on time," Jim said, giving her a happy grin as they settled into the comfortable, roomy chairs. "And best of all, we were upgraded to first class!"

Melinda couldn't hold back her laughter. "You mean after I," she lifted up her fingers to keep count, "_burned_ breakfast, had my bag literally explode on me, had the car die _just_ before we left so that we had to call a cab, _and_ forgot to lock the windows and doors so that we had to come," she made a circular motion with her hand, "_all the way_ back to the house to do it. _Only then_ did we arrive on time, get through security, and get upgraded to first class based on the fact that it was underbooked while business class was _over_booked." She sighed and leaned back with a smile.

Jim pretended to think about it. "Yeah, I think we deserved it," he declared with a smile as he leaned forward to give her a kiss.

"Oh, are you newlyweds?" asked a rather elderly voice with a French accent.

The two younger people turned around and glanced across the aisle at an old woman seated next to an equally older man. Jim gave a smirk of embarrassment as Melinda giggled.

"No, we're just heading to Paris for a sort of second honeymoon," Melinda explained, grinning as Jim took her left hand in his right one.

"Oh, how lovely," the elderly woman said, smiling fondly at the man sitting next to her. "We are just returning home to Paris after a long trip to visit our great-grandchildren. It's so nice to see young people so in love come to see our fair city."

"Well, I've heard that it is both the City of Lights and the most romantic place in Europe," Jim said with a smile.

"Ah, but you have not yet been to Italy," the old man said, patting the arm of his wife. "The cities there are also romantic and very beautiful." He then reached out and kissed the back of his wife's hand. "I took her there after our own wedding. We return there once every few years for the memories."

"Aw, that's sweet!" Melinda said, beaming. "Next time we'll have to go to Italy, won't we, Jim?"

"Yeah, after I put in a lot of overtime," he muttered, sneaking her a playful glare.

Melinda merely stuck her tongue out at him, much to the amusement of the couple sitting across the aisle. "Whatever," she said, sitting back in her chair as the flight attendant began announcing the safety procedures over the intercom. Since she knew this all by heart, she ignored the instructions.

"Forgive me," the woman said, once again catching her attention. "My name is Elaine, and this is my husband, Philippe de Chagny."

"De Chagny?" Melinda said. '_Where have I heard that name before_?'

"Yes, we are rather proud of our name," Elaine said, smiling. "There is even a legend that says that we are descended from the Vicompt de Chagny, from the story **_Le Fantôme de l'Opéra_**."

For a moment, Miranda processed that in her mind. "Oh!" she exclaimed softly with a smile. "The Phantom of the Opera?" she asked.

"_Oui_!" declared Philippe with a proud grin. "It is only legend, but it is still fun to pretend that it's true, no?"

"Absolutely," Jim said with a smile. "So, tell me about Paris? Oh, I'm Jim, by the way, and this is my wonderful wife, Melinda."

The first half of the flight passed quickly, and before they knew it, it was time to sleep for the overnight section of the trip.

* * *

"Okay, what hotel are we staying at?" Melinda asked with a yawn. Even in first class, sleeping in the chair is not very comfortable. 

"We're staying at the Hilton," Jim declared, beaming. "Apparently nobody spared the expense of flight and accommodations when it came to this trip!"

"Well, then lead on," Miranda declared, allowing her husband to take the baggage out of the terminal and to the section where taxis waited.

Within an hour and a half, they were unpacked and happily adjusting to the hotel room. It was rather large, but beautiful and elegant in its own right, having both a modern and classical air about it. There was carved marble _everywhere_, and the old furnishings were something Melinda would love to have on sale in her shop.

"Okay," Jim said, rising from the bed and rubbing his hands together. "Now that we're all settled in, what do you say to some exploring?"

Melinda couldn't hold back a groan as she collapsed dramatically onto the bed her husband had just vacated. "Do we have to?" she asked, flinging her right arm over her eyes. "Can't I adjust to the fact that we're supposed to be running over eight hours ahead, not to mention all of the hours we just spent on the plane?"

"Come on, Melinda, let's get going." Grinning, Jim scooped up his protesting wife and deposited her on her feet inside of the bathroom, ignoring her pouting. "Come on, the sooner we complete today like any normal day, the sooner we can go to bed like the natives and wake up fresh and early tomorrow, perfectly in tune with the time change. How does that sound?"

She didn't comment, merely closed the door behind her to get ready.

* * *

"Okay, I think we have officially maxed out the credit cards," Jim muttered as he juggled several shopping bags from one hand to the other. "Honey, don't you think we should get all this back to the hotel?" 

"Just one more shop, Jim," Melinda begged, glancing around the street. "I mean, how often does a girl get to go shopping in Paris?"

"Not often, which is fine by me," he grumbled, staring at the pile of boxes and bags he was currently toting around. Jim then looked at the four or five bags his wife was carrying and sighed. "Can we at least put these in the car? My arms are going to fall off, I swear they are."

His wife merely laughed as she led him back to the rental car that they had been given as they left the hotel. Amazingly, the trip had included all transportation, both air and ground, so they didn't have to pay extra; they only had to pay for meals they had outside of the Hilton, and for any sort of shopping that they did.

Once the packages were deposited in the trunk of the car and the alarm reset, the two headed off to find a café to have something to eat. It was mid-afternoon, so it was too late for lunch, but too early for dinner. Instead, Melinda ordered a light meal of assorted crepes for both her and Jim to share. Her favorite was one containing various kinds of seafood, covered in a delicious cream sauce. Jim preferred one filled with eggs and sausage mixed together, but both agreed that the perfect finale to the meal was a crepe filled with fresh strawberries and chocolate sauce, topped with whipped cream.

Melinda wiped her mouth and sat back in her chair, a contented smile on her face. "That…was perfect," she said happily, her hand reaching for the cup of coffee that the waiter had just brought. "What do you think?"

"I think," Jim said with an equally pleased smile, "that if we stay here longer than we're meant to, I'll be too fat to resume my job as an ambulance driver when we get back to Grandview."

Giggles escaped Melinda's mouth, and a few diners looked over, though they seemed more amused than upset. A few women exchanged understanding smiles with her as they reached for the hands of their husbands or lovers, which caused Melinda to smile back at them.

'_Wow, Paris really is the City of Love_,' she thought as they paid the bill.

Blinking at the bright sunshine, Melinda took her husband's arm and let him lead her into the street, their eyes darting around, taking in the sights. They saw many street painters, artists who made their living on drawing the landscapes, passersby, or those who wanted portraits made of their spouses or children. They paused at one of the quiet street corners where an artist sat, waiting for a customer to approach or for inspiration to hit him, whichever came first.

Out of nowhere, Jim suddenly insisted that he wanted a painting of his wife to take home and hang above their fireplace, causing her to blush as the French painter smiled and fluttered around, gathering his paints together for the task. He quickly seated her down on a comfortable chair with a red cushion, the back of the seat facing the street while Melinda faced the sidewalk and the people either passing by or stopping to watch.

Once seated, Melinda arranged the brown, flowing skirt she wore so that it looked neat, the wooden beads trimming the edge lightly clanking together as she moved. She then pulled off her jean jacket and handed it to Jim, who held it patiently while she straightened her white blouse and placed her hands in her lap, a small smile on her face. The painter gave her a cheerful smile before delving into his work.

"You are very pretty woman," the artist declared in accented English, smiling as his pencil moved around on the canvas. "Your husband is lucky man."

"Oh, thank you," Melinda said, blushing as Jim chuckled from his standing position behind and to the artist's right. "That's very nice of you."

The man simply waved her comment aside. "It is true," he replied, smiling as he hands moved quickly. "You have a natural beauty about you…too many women wear the colors over the eyes and the lipstick…you take good care of yourself."

Jim seemed to be a bit jealous at that point. "So, how long do you think it'll take for you to finish the picture?" he asked, shifting his stance.

"Oh, not long," the man said, giving Melinda an amused wink and a smile. "An hour or so…not much longer than that."

"Good," Jim said, his voice clipped.

Melinda merely smiled at them both and let the man do his work.

* * *

"Well, that was fun," she said, happily carrying her bags of purchases while Jim carried the painting of her. Actually, she was just happy that she hadn't seen a single ghost yet today; she had been too focused on spending a fun-filled day with her husband. Maybe tomorrow, but hopefully not till then. 

"Oh, yeah," was Jim's sarcastic reply, rolling his eyes as they arrived back at the hotel room. "I especially liked it when one Frenchman wanted to know 'who the beautiful lady in the painting is,' and to see if she was available."

Melinda literally heard him growl in the back of his throat and laughed as they entered the room, depositing their purchases on various tables and chairs. "I thought it was sweet," she said, "especially when you nearly bit the poor man's head off."

"Hey, the guy was trying to make a move on my wife," he declared, waving a finger at her. "I'm not going to let some smooth-talking Frenchman try and steal you away from me."

She merely shook her head. "Well, let's just go out for dinner and a walk, how about that?" she suggested, smiling at him.

"Fine by me," Jim said, smiling back at her. "How about we eat here tonight? In a hotel restaurant, since it's already paid for?"

Melinda merely walked up to him and planted a kiss on his lips. "I'll go freshen up and then we can go."

Watching his wife skip off to the bathroom, Jim couldn't hold back a proud grin. "I _am_ one lucky man," he muttered to himself as he shook his head.

* * *

Dinner had been an elegant affair, with good wine accompanying the seafood appetizer, the roasted duck with vegetables, and the delicious pastry sampler that managed to energize them after the heavy meal. The coffee also helped, and before they knew it, Jim and Melinda were on a romantic walk through the streets of Paris, Jim's arm wrapped securely around his wife's waist in the oncoming darkness. Streetlamps lit the way, and the two began wandering around, smiling at fellow tourists who passed them by on their way to dinner or a club. 

Full night had settled in when the two of them began traveling down a fairly quiet street. It was then that Melinda felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She turned her head around, trying to see if a menacing spirit was nearby. However, all she saw were a few couples dressed in Victorian garb, which made her think that perhaps the spirits came out in full force when it was dark. Paris was a very crowded place, so perhaps the dead here preferred to come out when most of the living were asleep in their homes or tucked indoors.

"Melinda?" Jim asked, glancing down at her before following her gaze as it flitted around the street. "Honey, I _really_ don't like the look on your face. What are you seeing that I don't?"

At that moment, a few of the Victorian couples turned around and looked at her, smiling and nodding before moving on, apparently aware that they were dead and very happy with it. All she could do was smile back as she and Jim kept walking down the sidewalk.

"Well, there are quite a few couples who are dressed for the 1800's," Melinda replied in a weak attempt at humor. "But they seem perfectly happy and aware that they're dead. A few are even waving happily at me!"

True enough, another couple passed by, this one somewhat older, perhaps in their fifties, the man tipping his hat to her while his wife gave a sincere smile and nod. Always polite, Melinda smiled and nodded back.

"Okay, well, if they're perfectly happy with their situation in…" Jim cleared his throat, "um, with their situation in the afterlife, why do you look so jumpy?"

"Because I sensed something a few minutes ago," she said bluntly. "It's not something bad or anything, it's just something that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It certainly got my attention!"

Jim looked up and realized that they had reached the end of the street and were now at the curb. "Maybe it was one of the buildings we passed by that gave you that feeling. Did you want to go back and check it out?"

She nodded her head, and they both turned their heads up to the right to check out what they had just passed by. Both of them gaped. How could they _not_ have noticed the beautiful, artistic structure? Impressive columns, numerous elegant arches, gold statues on the top left and right corners of the building, intricately carved figures all along the top and bottom section of the walls, and the large dome on the top of the building all seemed to work together to create what looked like a palace.

"It is the _Palais Garnier_," a voice whispered into her ear.

Melinda turned around, coming face-to-face with another ghostly couple, the woman in a fine gown and the man in formalwear, complete with top hat and walking cane. "_Palais Garnier_?" she asked.

"You Americans call it the Paris Opera House… we once called it the Opera Populaire," the woman said with a smile that was filled with fear and anger. "The interior was burned down well over a century ago by **_le Fantôme_**, but the outside was spared. It was very expensive to rebuild."

"Oh, really," Melinda replied, not knowing what else to say. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jim looking at her intently.

The woman laughed. "You are touched with the Sight, mademoiselle," she said, smiling. "That would explain why you see us and your husband does not." She curtseyed. "Well, we must go. _Bon soir_!"

"Good night!" Melinda called after them as they faded from view. Jim, meanwhile, was waiting for her to explain the whole thing, which she did.

"So do you think the whole story about the Phantom really happened?" he asked, staring up at the beautiful structure. "Could his spirit, or the spirits of those he killed in the fire, be the reason why you got the shivers?"

"It could be," she replied, also staring up at the Opera House. "I'd have to go inside to check."

"What, you mean _right_ _now_?" Jim protested as Melinda began pulling on his arm. "Honey, the place is probably closed for the night to visitors! Can't we come back in the morning, when things probably aren't so…" he looked around, "spooky?"

"If I come back during the day, the spirits probably won't show themselves to me," she said, still tugging on his arm. "So far, the only ghosts I've seen have been after dark tonight, and if I want to get to the bottom of this, I need to go inside _right now_ to get some answers!"

By this time, they had reached the front doors. Melinda tried to turn the knob, and was ecstatic when it opened without any trouble. Meanwhile, Jim was cursing to himself about his lack of good luck as his wife led him inside the Opera House.

* * *

AN: Another chapter done! Please leave a review and let me know how I'm doing! Thanks! 


	3. The Opera House

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Ghost Whisperer_** or **_Phantom_**. Only Celeste is mine.

AN: Okay, not a lot of reviews coming in…if you are reading, _please_ review and let me know what you think: it makes my world go round. Also, I've never been to the Opera Garnier, though I do plan on going someday. With that said and done, please don't get upset if the layout I'm describing is totally wrong; I'm just using what was in the 2004 movie and twisting it around to fit my story. Anyway, _please_ leave a review and let me know how you like this. Thanks!

**Chapter 3: The Opera House**:

The grand entrance was eerily dark and quiet, though Melinda could imagine it with the lamps fully lit and the space filled with chattering opera-goers. She could barely see with the lights dimmed down to near-darkness, and counted herself fortunate that they were lit just enough to see where it really counted. For instance, she could make out the form of the reception/information desk on the far right-hand side of the room, with a little sign propped up that probably said 'closed.'

"Check out that staircase," Jim breathed beside her.

Melinda turned her head and nearly gasped. It was extraordinarily grand, and she could certainly see what it must look like during a performance night. There would doubtless be women dressed in gorgeous gowns and jewels descending the steps, smiling as the train of their dresses gracefully trailed behind them while they discussed the night's performance with their escorts. Perhaps there would be waiters serving glasses of wine or champagne, as well as little finger-foods to nibble on before the intermission was over.

"We _so_ have to come here during the day," she said, not hiding the awe in her voice.

"I agree," Jim said, wrapping an arm around her. "Why don't we come back when it's daylight?" he asked, trying to steer her back towards the front doors.

Melinda rolled her eyes and shrugged his arm off her shoulders. "No, since we're here now, I'm going to see what I can find out," she declared, smiling. "Besides, the doors were unlocked, so they might even welcome a visitor or two at this hour."

Her husband snorted. "I highly doubt that," he muttered, glancing around the room. "But since we are here, where do you want to go?"

Melinda bit her lip in thought, trying to remember the details she'd heard or read about the Opera Populaire. She had been required to read part of the Leroux version of the story in her high school English Literature class, but couldn't really remember most of it, since she hadn't fully gotten into the subject. After all, why read about a man who pretended to be a ghost when she saw the actual thing every day? Still, she recalled feeling sorry for the poor man without a nose, and who played tricks to survive while he wore a full mask over his face, to hide his deformity.

However, Melinda knew from experience (and from pop culture gossip) that there were many different versions of the Phantom's story, so many that it was hard to keep some of the information straight. Heck, she didn't even know what the Phantom _looked_ like! Did he or did he not have a nose? Was his face completely deformed like in the Leroux book, or was he like the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical she'd seen newspaper pictures of, with only half of his face different from the rest?

'_Wow, I wish I had paid more attention when Andrea was chatting on and on about the storyline_,' she thought, a pang of anguish shooting through her chest.

Remembering her dead best friend was always hard on Melinda, even though she'd helped Andrea 'cross over' only a few months prior. However, the memory of Andrea might just help her with solving the issue of another troubled soul. Right now, all of the details that had been poured into Melinda's brain were beginning to come back to her, information from the two different versions she remembered attempting to sort themselves out in her head.

"Melinda?" Jim whispered, breaking her line of thought. "Honey, you're scaring me."

She shook her head. "I was just trying to figure out where, if I were the Phantom, would I be right now?" she said with a sigh. "From what I can remember from high school, he lived right underneath the Opera House, but the entire building was also his playing field." She glanced around. "It was aboveground where he played tricks on people, making demands and then causing horrible things to happen to those who disobeyed him."

"And you're going to help this guy?" her husband asked, his voice full of disbelief.

Melinda turned and looked him straight in the eye. "Jim, I have to do this," she said firmly. "This spirit, if he really existed and is still here, deserves some peace after all of the pain and suffering that he's been through. It's his right." She smiled. "Besides, we don't even know if it's really him that I felt or not, and I need to find out more."

Bowing his head, Jim sighed and nodded his head before raising it to look his wife in the eye. "Okay, then, where can we find him? I mean," he waved his hands at the walls, "this place is huge, and this is just the main hall! How can we possibly find our way without a tour guide?"

Glancing around, Melinda spotted something that could be of use to them. "We just follow the signs," she said, pointing at a bright white board with black lettering; it was faintly lit from a built-in light above it, showing a map and labels in French and English.

The two walked up and began to read the detailed directory. It was divided into the numerous levels and sections of the Opera House: blue for the public rooms, pink for the dressing rooms, and green for the rooms that were off limits to visitors. The public rooms included the audience seats, the expensive viewing boxes, the restrooms, and the little balconies that led outside for fresh air during intermissions. Melinda didn't care about those, though.

"Wait, didn't I hear about the Phantom loving a singer or something?" Jim asked while squinting at the directory. "Could he be near her dressing room?"

"No, it would probably be too public," Melinda replied, running through the list of off limit rooms. "He was solitary, and I imagine that lots of people still flood the dressing rooms before, during, and after the performances. I'm willing to bet that all of the ghosts that might still be here are probably in the rooms off limits to visitors…" She grinned. "Like the dormitories where the minor singers and the ballerinas sleep!"

Without waiting for him to speak, Melinda grabbed her husband's arm and began dragging him towards the wing that held the dorms.

* * *

"Melinda, are you sure about this?" Jim whispered to her as they crept down a dim hallway. "I mean, what if we get caught? People might think we're trying to steal something!" 

"Oh, Jim, you're being paranoid," Melinda said, rolling her eyes. "It's too early in the evening for the workers to be coming home for bed, since they like to stretch dinnertime out as long as possible. Now come on, we don't have all night!"

She could hear him sigh from his position behind her, his eyes keeping watch in case someone came at them from the back. Meanwhile, Melinda was moving forwards towards the ballet dorms, her eyes glancing back and forth as she walked. Already she had encountered several spirits, most of whom ignored her or didn't fully realize that she could see them. One spirit was that of an older man with a bottle of alcohol in his hand; _that_ one she had seen swaying down the hall as he walked, muttering things as he made his way towards the stage area. What had disturbed Melinda the most, however, were the marks he had around his neck, resembling the weave of a rope.

'_Could that have been the stagehand the Phantom murdered in the film_?' she thought with a shiver.

It hadn't fully hit her before, but now she realized that she might be helping a murderous spirit. On the other hand, it wouldn't be the first time this sort of thing had happened, and stranger things had happened before. Turning another corner, Melinda stopped dead in her tracks; three doors down on her right, there was a glowing white light shining under the wood. It wasn't a candle, she was sure, and it was flickering too much to be an electric light, which meant only one thing…

"Jim, it's that one," she whispered, pointing at the door.

Jim turned and looked. "Gee, I wonder what gave it away?" he asked sarcastically.

Melinda whirled around to look at him. "You mean you see it, too?" she asked, startled.

"Melinda, the light is the only source of brightness in the entire hallway, of course I can see it," he said, not fully understanding his wife's surprise.

Not wanting to push things further, or to frighten her husband, Melinda led them both to the doorway. Taking a deep breath, she quietly turned the knob and opened the door. The two of them blinked their eyes for a moment, adjusting to the light after so much darkness, and when their vision cleared, both Jim and Melinda started in surprise.

There in the middle of an empty room stood a young woman clad in an ankle-length white dress. She was of short stature, almost petite, with long, straight brown hair flowing down her back. They could not get a clear glimpse of her eyes, for they were focused out a window, but from what Melinda could see, they were probably a deep, dark brown. A white lacy corset was tied tightly around her torso, and loose, equally lacy sleeves came down to her wrists. The skirt was a light material that neither Jim or Melinda had seen before, and it seemed to float at the slightest breath of air; on top of her head was a wreath of white roses.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Jim said, extremely embarrassed at the intrusion. "Sorry, we'll just go…"

The girl turned around and stared at them in surprise before disappearing completely, right before their eyes.

* * *

"Okay, you saw that, right?" Jim said for the hundredth time in five minutes. He slouched back in a chair they had found out in the hallway. 

Sighing, Melinda nodded, petting her husband's head as she tried to calm him down. "For the last time, Jim, yes, I did see her, and yes, I did see her disappear," she said patiently.

"But how did _I_ see her?" he asked, looking up at his wife. "I've never seen ghosts before this! I've seen ghosts manipulate objects, but I've never _actually_ _seen_ _them_ like you have."

Melinda chewed her lower lip. "I really have no clue," she stated as she looked back to the room they had just left. "Maybe we should go back to the hotel, get some rest," she suggested.

"Good idea."

Jim got up from his chair and wrapped his arm around her waist, leading her back down the hallway that led to the main part of the Opera House. They had just reached the main section of the building when a flickering white light caught their eye. Turning around, both Jim and Melinda were surprised to see the girl again, a sad smile on her face as she began to turn towards a hallway, beckoning for them to follow her.

"Do you think we should do as she wants?" Jim whispered as he tightened his grip on the woman he loved. He was still unsettled by the fact that he could _see_ the spirit before them.

"I don't sense anything evil from her," Melinda softly replied, her eyes never leaving the strange girl. "And she obviously wants to talk to us, so I think we should go with her."

Jim sighed. "Well, you've never been wrong when it comes to spirits," he said, shifting uncomfortably where he stood. "Okay, let's go."

The spirit's smile seemed to turn a bit happier as she motioned for them to follow.

* * *

The hallways were silent as the young woman led them from one part of the Opera House to the other, and soon, both Jim and Melinda were completely turned around about where they were. After ten minutes, they found themselves in front of a nondescript door that almost seemed part of the wall. The wood was the same exact color as the walls surrounding it, and if it weren't for the dull, yellowed porcelain doorknob, it was doubtful that anyone would figure out that there was a door there. 

Melinda, once again leading Jim by the hand, walked straight behind their guide until, without pausing, the spirit passed through the door itself. A faint 'click' could be heard, as though she were unlocking it for them, and Melinda reached out and turned the knob, gently pushing the door open so that she and Jim could take a look inside.

The interior of the room had a cozy and warm air that was welcoming, and Melinda couldn't help but smile at the ghost who currently stood in the middle of the room; apparently she had led them to a bedroom where they could be alone and talk. Jim, also feeling the pleasant air the ghost was trying to give, stepped inside and shut the door behind him to give them privacy.

From the doorway, looking into the room, a person stood facing the right-hand side of the bed, the head of which was pressed up against the left wall, almost in the far left corner. However, it was just far enough away from the far wall to have a small table and oil lamp placed in the corner, the light of the room coming from that same lamp. On the far right was a vanity with a large mirror and chair pressed against the wall, and standing next to it, in the far right corner, was a pitcher and basin of white porcelain decorated with blue flowers and vines. There were two other chairs in the center of the room for guests around a small, short table, likely meant to hold refreshments (if there were any).

"Please, sit," the spirit asked in a soft, French-accented voice, indicating the two center chairs.

Melinda didn't hesitate, though Jim did for a brief moment. Both of them took their seats and watched as the chair in front of the vanity moved back and turned around to face them. Melinda and Jim, in order to be respectful to their hostess, adjusted their seating so that they could face the ghost while she talked. Once everything was settled, the two waited for her to speak. After a few moments of silence, Melinda decided to make the first move.

"Um, my name is Melinda Gordon, and this is my husband, Jim Clancy," she introduced, gesturing first to herself, then to Jim.

The girl smiled shyly. "I am Celeste DeFrancq," she said, placing a hand upon her breast. Melinda found herself enjoying the sound of her voice. "Welcome to the Opera Populaire, my home."

"Ahem," Jim cleared his throat. "It's a lovely home."

"_Merci_, Monsieur," replied Celeste, her shy smile becoming a proud one.

"Um, Celeste, may I ask you a question?" Melinda asked. "Actually, can I ask you a few questions?" Celeste nodded. "Well, Jim and I would like to know how he can see you…when he hasn't been able to see spirits before this."

The other girl chuckled lightly. "I _knew_ he wasn't a Seer of the Dead as you are, Melinda," she said, still laughing. "I am afraid that it is a bit complicated. You see, a spirit draws power from several different sources. One source is the power we draw from our own emotions about how we died, such as anger, confusion, or…" she trailed off for a moment, "heartache. A person that died comfortably in their own home, feeling happy, safe, and loved is more likely to go to the Heavens than remain here.

"Another source is the power we take from those around us, namely the energy that living beings produce. A third source is the energy taken from the places we either loved in life, or the place where we died so we could attend to certain unfinished business left behind from when we were alive."

Jim opened his mouth, but Melinda stopped him from talking by putting her hand on his arm. Celeste took that as a signal to continue, and did so.

"However, in quite a few cases, some of us can draw upon the power of _belief_," she said, looking between Jim and Melinda. "You know of what I speak, Seer of the Dead."

Melinda nodded. "Some spirits can be seen by certain people who have a very deep belief in the existence of spirits," she said, recalling something her grandmother had told her a long time ago. "If enough people believe in the ghost, they become more … _real_, I suppose you could say, and more people are able to see them due to the fact that so many others already have faith that that one particular ghost does, in fact, exist."

Celeste nodded in agreement. "It is just so," she said. "For me, I was trapped here due to the way I died…during the fire that occurred. While it was traumatic enough to sustain me being here, attached to my own room for quite some time, I could feel myself becoming weaker, my power waning as time passed and the Populaire was rebuilt around me. However, I was not ready to pass on to the afterlife and stayed here in my room."

"So what happened?" Jim asked before Melinda could stop him.

A small smile pulled at Celeste's lips. "As your wife knows, little children are able to see ghosts until they realized that they should not be seeing them, or that ghosts should not exist," Celeste replied, her hands moving to play with a lock of her loose hair. "One day, several years after the Populaire was rebuilt, I was wondering around the Opera House when I found a young girl crying in the chapel. I let myself appear behind her and whispered words of comfort to her so that she would not feel so sad or alone. When she turned around all of a sudden, she saw me. Unafraid, she said her name was Marguerite, and that she was part of the _corps de ballet_. When she saw how I was dressed, she thought I was an angel sent from heaven to help her."

"So you lied to her," Melinda guessed, unsure as to whether or not she was correct.

"No, I didn't," was the surprising reply. "I told her that I had died here, and that I was a ghost. I told her not to be afraid, and she said she couldn't be afraid of someone who was trying to help her. Maggie, as she asked me to call her, asked if I would be her friend, and I said yes. Time passed, and after she grew accustomed to the ballet dorms, she found a few other new girls who were lonely and needed a friend, and introduced me to them."

"Let me guess," Jim said with a smile. "Those other girls introduced other new ballerinas to you."

Laughter erupted from Celeste's lips. "Yes, indeed. Soon the entire _corps de ballet_ knew of me and became my friends. When the older girls finally either retired or quit the Populaire to start families, they sometimes sent their daughters here to be dancers or singers, who would, in turn, become my friends. This increase in amounts of believers increased my ability to allow anyone I wished to see me. After a few decades, I discovered that I was able to defend the girls against unwanted advances from stagehands." An angry look flashed within her dark eyes. "I made sure that several men received injuries that they would not forget, which soon led them to leave the Opera House in fear."

"So you've been making friends with the ballerinas for over one hundred years?" Jim asked in awe.

"Oh, has it been that long?" Celeste asked, her eyes wide and seemingly clueless. She focused on Melinda and winked. "I hadn't noticed, what with all the changes in technology and such…"

"Well, since you died in the fire so long ago, don't you think it's time to cross over?" Melinda asked. After all, it was her job to help restless spirits. "Don't you want peace?"

Celeste shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I found peace with my death long ago," she replied in a soft voice as she twirled a lock of hair between her fingers. "I find myself liking it here, doing what I can to help protect the girls. If I go, who will take care of them?" She sighed. "The truth is, I am more useful dead than when I was alive."

'_Which is probably why she's still here_,' Melinda thought with a slight frown. Aloud, she said, "Well, why don't you let me be the judge of that? Why don't you tell me about your life and, if you feel better about yourself, I can help you to cross over?"

A long silence followed as Celeste considered the offer. Melinda held her breath.

"Very well," the spirit said, though she appeared hesitant about it. "I will tell you of my life, and if I feel ready to go into the afterlife, I will let you help me."

Melinda barely suppressed a sigh of relief. "Okay," she said with a smile. "Go ahead."

And so the story began…

* * *

AN: How was that? I hope that people check out the television show just so they know where I'm coming from. For more info on the story or TV show, check out my bio page. Please review! 


	4. Life Before Death

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** or **_Ghost Whisperer_**; I'm just borrowing them for further entertainment purposes (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers).

AN: Okay, I'm switching points-of-views all over the place in this story, just to make it interesting. It is going to include: Celeste's first-person POV, the POV's of Melinda and Jim, and the views of others as well. Personally, I feel that it'll take everyone further into the story and make it more unique. Also, _please review_! If no one reviews, it makes me think that people hate this story, and if no one likes it, this story will be removed. Thank you.

**Chapter 4: Life Before Death:**

I truly liked the Seer-woman before me. She was bright, cheerful, and quite friendly, much like the girls I had known before in my life and the little ones who now slept in the dormitories. I also like the sound of her name: Melinda. It was quite pretty, and it suited her. Her husband was quite handsome, and he had a kind air about him; I could tell that he enjoyed helping others, so I guessed him to be a doctor or something of the sort. Jim, he was called, and though he seemed uncomfortable around me, I could tell by the truthfulness of his smile that he was a good man.

'_They need to hear by story_,' I thought, trying not to sigh.

I did not want to delve into old memories, but if it managed to lift one of the many weights I felt on my shoulders, then so be it. As Jim and Melinda leaned forwards, I began my tale.

* * *

I was born in the year 1850, here in Paris, and was a true child of the Opera Populaire. I never knew my mother or father's names, though I do remember knowing them for a brief time in my life; they left this world when I was quite young, though that part will come later on in my tale. 

My mother had been a ballerina here since she was a child, and since she was a petite thing, she fit in very well with the dancers, her talents second only to the _prima ballerina_. For years she danced on the stage, and since she loved it so, she dedicated her entire early life to it, spurning the attentions and propositions of the stagehands and her admirers. However, no one's day in the spotlight lasts forever, and eventually, Mother's talents began to wane.

After she had lost the grace of her younger years, she found it terribly hard to tear herself away from one of the few places she called 'home.' My mother had grown up in the world of dance, and it was the only life she had ever known. Though she was far from what would be considered "old," it was clear that she had passed her prime as a ballerina. Terrified of what kind of life lay beyond the doors of the Opera House, she took her predicament to the managers of the Populaire and pleaded for them to keep her as an employee in any position they could offer her, as long as she could still dance in private.

After considering how many faithful years (not to mention profits) she had given to the Opera House, the managers decided to let her remain and become part of the staff. At first, Mother was a cleaning maid, but once the managers realized that her dance experience could be put to good use, she became a dance instructor to those who required private lessons. Eventually, this development would lead her to become close friends with a woman by the name of Antoinette Giry, who later became ballet mistress of this very establishment.

It was during one of those private dance sessions that she met my father, who was a stagehand. Mother was onstage, instructing a ballerina who needed help recovering after spraining an ankle, when a stagehand slid down one of the ropes and landed beside them, startling the two women. The ballerina fell onto her rear and had angry stalked offstage, leaving my mother to lecture the stagehand on how close he had come to hurting not only himself, but the two dancers. My father had merely smiled during the whole lecture and endured it, if only to have her full attention.

After the lecture was over, Father had merely shrugged it off before asking Mother out to dinner, which, in her surprise at the offer, she accepted. My mother soon grew attracted to him, and before the year was done, they had gotten married and moved into a suite of rooms at the Populaire, all with the blessings of the managers. Father continued his work in the flies above the stage and Mother continued her work with the dancers. Nine months later, I was born into their lives.

When I was five-years-old, Madame Antoinette Giry was hired to become the head ballet mistress. At once, Mother was upset at the thought that she might be getting replaced, but the managers assured her that she would remain as a private tutor for those who required more attention and guidance than the ballet mistress could give them. When Madame Giry arrived to take her post, Mother immediately recognized her from their endeavors in the _corps de ballet_ many years earlier, before Madame Giry had left to marry and start a family. Now that she was a widow with a newborn baby girl, Madame needed to make a living, and so she had returned to the only place that could use her talents: the Opera Populaire. My life became interesting from that day forward.

Since there were now two ballet instructors in the Populaire, each with a tiny child to look after, one or the other had to be a caretaker while the other worked. Fortunately, both women ran different hours, and so they traded off looking after me and little Meg Giry, Madame's baby girl. Since we spent so much time together, Meg and I soon became like sisters, playing together, napping together, and exploring the Opera House together. I still have great affection for the little blonde darling, who, even as a baby, always seemed to be so happy and cheerful. I would later need that cheer in my life…

When I turned seven years of age, my father fell from the rafters above the stage, the security rope around his waist snapping while he fell. The courts ruled it an accident caused by faulty ropes, as it should have saved my father's life, and that the managers were ordered to pay my mother a good sum of money for it. However, my mother did not live long after that, and died two months later of a broken heart, leaving me very much alone.

Since I had been born and raised in the Opera House, and since the managers didn't think it was right that I be torn away from the place I called home, they left me in the care of my mother's only friend: Madame Giry. She cared for me as a daughter, feeding and clothing me with her own earnings instead of touching the funds that had been set aside for me from my father's accident. My parents had worked hard and had saved every franc that they could, tucking it away in the bank should they need it, and it was to be mine when I came of age.

Since I was too young to do any sort of work, but too old to stay with Meg, I was allowed to have my own set of rooms to sleep in, and was free to play by myself anywhere I chose, as long as I was not in the way of the adults or interrupted the opera rehearsals. I mostly stayed in the hallways near Madame Giry's apartments, just so that I could always keep an eye on Meg, who was still young enough to require someone to take care of her. One day, though, my curiosity led me away from what was considered 'safe,' and I found myself lost in a dark hallway I had never seen before.

No one heard my calls for help, as they were all busy preparing for the upcoming opening night, so I merely wandered around, crying as I walked. I soon grew tired and fell asleep, curled up in a corner. The next thing I knew, someone was carrying me, the feel of their arms very different from those of Madame Giry. The arms felt thick and strong, like a man's, and I felt very frightened at who might be holding me. Opening my eyes, I glanced up; however, instead of a full face, I found myself looking into a white mask and a blazing green eye flecked with gold.

All my life I had heard tales being whispered about an Opera Ghost, a creature, spirit, or man who roamed the halls and possessed the talent to disappear before your eyes. He asked the managers for money in order to prevent accidents from happening, and even gave them orders as to how the Opera House should be run. Everything he asked for was done without question, and should someone challenge him, terrible things occurred. With all of these stories running through my head, I was prepared to scream and fight for my life.

But when he looked down at me, I could see a sort of sadness that I had never before seen in any other adult. I immediately felt guilty at what I had been prepared to do, and instead smiled up at him, thanking him as he carried me back towards my room. The Phantom looked at me in surprise, but said nothing. A few moments later, he gently set me down on my feet, gave my bottom a soft pat, and told me to go play in my room for the rest of the day. Before he left, though, I ran up to him and tugged on his pant leg, asking him to bend down. He did so, and I pressed a kiss to his exposed cheek before turning to obey his orders.

* * *

"You kissed the _Phantom of the Opera_ on the _cheek_?" Melinda gasped, wide-eyed. 

I couldn't hold back a laugh. "Well, I was only seven-years-old at the time," I replied, smiling at her.

"Wow," Jim said in awe. "So…did you really know him?"

My eyes closed as I became lost in a torrent of memories. "Yes…I knew him…"

* * *

From that day forward, whenever something mysteriously appeared on my bed or in my room, I knew it was the Phantom who had given it to me. Toys, books, ribbons, a new robe for Christmas or a box of candy, it was always from him, and always with a note that was signed **_O.G._** at the end. Since I was a child, this all seemed magical and wonderful, and I found myself looking around my room several times a day to see if he had left me anything new. However, once Madame Giry discovered that things were appearing in my room, she resorted to taking it all away from me, hiding them in a locked chest in her room, where I was forbidden to go. 

"You are not to steal things!" she declared, revealing what she'd thought I had been doing. "Or if you have not stolen them, you are not to accept things from others you do not know!"

I had been shocked by her first accusation, but dared not tell her about my secret benefactor. Instead, I kept quiet, hanging my head and tucking myself away in my room. That night, the Phantom approached me, asking if I was alright. I told him that Madame Giry had taken all of my new things away, but that I had not betrayed his secret to her. He looked impressed and, oddly enough, touched by the fact, and asked if I would like to join him for tea and sweets in his home, instead of another gift. As an openly trusting child who had never been mistreated in my life, I had accepted, letting the Ghost sweep me up into his arms and carrying me down into his underground lair.

* * *

The sound of ringing bells could be heard in the distance, jarring me out of my tale as I listened to the number of chimes. It was three o'clock in the morning, and my girls needed me. 

"I must go," I said, glancing towards my guests as I stood from my chair. "It is late, you should return to your hotel and rest."

"Wait, you're just going to leave us hanging?" Jim blurted out, his eyes wide in disbelief.

A small smirk tugged at my lips. "It is not wise to use the word 'hanging' within this theater," I replied in a low voice. "It is associated with the Phantom, and many still believe that to overuse that word would bring his spirit back to the Opera House."

Jim and Melinda stood from their seats as well, though it was she who spoke. "Do you think that he's still here?" she asked, almost eager to meet other spirits. "The Phantom, I mean."

I shook my head. "If he is still here, **I** have never seen him," I said; I did not mention that I had no desire to see **_him_** once more. "I either know all the spirits that still dwell here or know **_of_** them, and none of them are of Erik."

Jim shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "I'm afraid to ask, but what other spirits…you know…are here?"

I couldn't hold back a small chuckle. "Yes, I know what you mean," I said, smiling. "And I am afraid that the other spirits are not as strong as I am. In some instances, it is possible for spirits to see one another and to communicate as the living do. However, most do not have that ability."

"But you do, because you are so strong," Melinda said, staring hard at me.

"That would be correct," I said. "Because so many people believe in me, I am strong, and that allows me to see, though not always to speak, to the other spirits here." I turned towards Jim. "There are many who are still here, though most are from the horrid disaster that occurred so long ago."

"The fire," Melinda breathed, her hands going to her mouth. "All those poor people who lost their lives…"

"_Oui_," I softly replied, sadness swelling up inside me. "Most people escaped the fire, but some did not…a few orchestra members, some dancers and chorus members, a few stagehands…and the few audience members who were seated in the first few rows, watching the opera."

"Are all of them still here?" pressed Melinda. "Do they need help?"

I shook my head. "I do not know how many will accept your help. The audience members will not speak to me, but the spirits of those that lived and died here in the Opera House do," I replied. "They all knew me in one way or another, so we get along fairly well. Sometimes we even meet on the stage and chat about the old days, before all of this technology came to pass." I smiled. "We former workers of the Populaire are content, and in some ways, we feel as though nothing has changed."

"And the others?" Jim asked, looking concerned. "What about them?"

I shrugged. "Mostly, the spirits of the audience members just wander around the seating area where they died. Some of them are still in shock about how they died or what they saw that night, and most of them look as though they have horrible burns all over them from the fire." I couldn't hold back a shudder. "The staff members who died during that time do not look that way, and it is disturbing for me to look at the audience areas."

"Well, I can certainly understand that," Jim said. "As much as I hate to say it, looking at a burn victim can be hard on anyone, even me."

Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, I leapt to have one of my questions answered. "If I may be so bold, Jim…may I ask what, exactly, it is you do?" I politely inquired. "I sense that you do something great and good for the people, but I do not know what."

He smiled at me. "I'm a paramedic, an ambulance driver," he said. "I arrive on the scenes of accidents or natural disasters and either treat victims or take them to a nearby hospital."

Awe spread through me. "Such a noble profession…" I said, glancing over at his wife. "You are quite fortunate to have one such as him." A playful smile tugged at my lips. "And one that is so handsome and so understanding of your gift!"

Melinda returned the smile. "Yes, I am quite fortunate," she said, glancing up at her husband, taking his hand in hers.

Envy replaced the awe I had felt, and the bitter coldness of it carved deep into my heart. "Well, I must go," I stated, fighting back my emotions. If I didn't control myself, something bad would happen.

"But I thought this was your room?" Melinda asked, confused. "It certainly looks roomy and you seem comfortable in it…"

"This _was_ my room," I said, glancing around. "My room was just about where this one is, and it was there that I lived while I was alive. When the Opera House was rebuilt, this bit of space became a storage room, approximately where my bedroom used to be. I took possession of it after I died because it was in an area familiar to me." A contented smile spread across my face. "As soon as I had enough living friends, they came and turned this place into an exact copy of my former room so that I had someplace familiar to go to whenever I wished for peace and quiet."

Suddenly, I felt as though I were on fire. I clutched at my chest, nearly falling to my knees at the shock.

"Celeste, what is it?" Jim asked, rushing towards me.

"I must go, my girls need me!" Without waiting for a reply, I sent myself towards the dormitories.

* * *

Jim watched in surprise as Celeste vanished before their eyes. "Do you think we should follow her?" he asked, glancing down at his wife. 

"I doubt that'll be a good idea," she said, glancing around the room. "Besides, how do we know we can get out of here?"

A few moments of trying to open the door yielded nothing. Just as Jim decided to break the door down, the door suddenly opened. There stood a girl of about sixteen with black curls and blue eyes, and wearing a gray dress, smiling at them. "Hello," she said in heavily accented English, very different from Celeste's smooth, pleasant, lightly-accented English. "Our Lady sent me to fetch you from here while she helps the girls deal with a…situation. Come, I will lead you to the front doors."

"Your Lady?" Melinda asked.

The teenager smiled. "Celeste," she replied. "I am Elise, a senior member of the _corps de ballet_."

"Oh, so you know all about Celeste being…" Jim trailed off.

"A ghost, you mean?" Elise asked, amused as she led them down the hallway towards the elevators. "Oh, _oui_, of course I do! Every member of the ballet knows of her! She is our friend, our protector; and many of us cannot imagine what life would be like here without her!"

At that moment, the elevator arrived and the three of them stepped in, watching the doors close. Elise stood on the left, Melinda in the middle, and Jim on the right. Elise pushed the button for the ground floor and the car began to move.

"Both you and Celeste say that she protects you," Melinda said, turning to gaze at the other girl.

"Yes," Elise said with a wide smile, her blue eyes sparkling happily. "She keeps away all of the horrible men who try to harm us. Now the men here know better than to lay a hand on the ballerinas!"

Both Jim exchanged looks with his wife. "And how would they know that?" he asked.

A spark of serious, cold determination turned Elise's eyes to pure blue ice. "Because any man who dares enter the ballet dormitories gets to meet her face-to-face," she said, narrowing her gaze. "Sometimes, if they have already harmed us, she uses her powers to attack them, usually strangling them. Or, if the men are in the process of harming us, she will show them the face she was given during the fire to terrify them." She shuddered. "It is a horrid sight, and very few have seen it."

"Was Celeste in the performance during the fire?" Melinda asked, glancing at Elise. "She seems a bit moderately dressed for something as daring as the _Don Juan_ opera that was going on that night."

Elise shifted uneasily where she stood, and when the elevator stopped, she practically leapt out of the contraption, Jim and Melinda trailing behind. Once they were at the front doors, Elise stopped and pushed them outside.

"I could not answer you inside," she whispered. "Celeste's spirit friends are everywhere, and report things to her if it concerns her or the dancers." Elise gazed sadly at the marble floor before continuing. "Celeste was not in _Don Juan_, though she _is_ dressed in a costume of sorts." She took a deep breath. "The night of the fire, you see…Celeste…took her own life…because of a man."

"Oh, no," Jim said with a slight groan, his arms going around his wife, who looked ready to cry.

"Yes," Elise replied, looking incredibly sad. "She loved a man very deeply, but he did not return her feelings, so she dressed herself up in that lovely white lace dress, placed a fresh flower wreath on her head, and killed herself."

Melinda felt a tear fall down her cheek. "Do you think that's why she's still here?" she asked.

Elise shook her head. "No, I think she fully expected to go on to someplace better, a place where she could be happy and find what she so desperately sought…"

"But she didn't cross over…" Melinda whispered. "And now she's still here…"

"Do you know the rest of the story?" Jim asked, gazing hard at the teenager.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Oui, but I cannot tell you here…I will meet you tomorrow the café behind the Populaire at noon; we will need to go elsewhere after that…there are too many ears there."

The other two agreed to the plan and said goodbye to Elise before heading back to their hotel for the night.

* * *

AN: Well, what do you think? Please be kind and review! I need to know if people like this story or not. Thanks! 


	5. Celeste's Secret

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Ghost Whisperer_** or **_Phantom_**. Only Celeste is mine.

AN: Once again, I don't know the area around Paris, so please don't hate me if something is wrong. One day I shall see it, but not anytime soon. Anyway, please leave a review after reading my story chapters; it keeps my Erik-muse happy. Thanks!

**Chapter 5: Celeste's Secret**:

Melinda found herself unable to get much rest that night, unlike her husband, who was blissfully unconscious. One would think that Jim would be wide awake after seeing a real ghost, but amazingly, he was out cold for the night. Instead, Melinda lay awake, thinking about Celeste and letting the minutes tick by until, somehow, she managed to doze off.

She woke late the next morning, and discovered that Jim was already dressed and waiting for her with a cup of coffee and a pastry in his hands. She smiled at his thoughtfulness and consumed both before jumping into the shower, allowing the hot water to relax her and wash away her stress. A quick blow-dry of her hair and a change into a pale blue dress and white jean jacket, and Melinda was ready to face the day. She happily accepted the arm Jim offered her, and the two of them headed out into the Paris sunshine.

* * *

It was exactly noon when Jim and Melinda approached a tiny café located behind the Opera Populaire. Elise was waiting outside, shifting from one foot to another as she scanned the crowds for them, and when she finally saw Melinda wave at her, Elise immediately moved to meet them. 

"Come, I will take you someplace where we can talk," she whispered. "The other ballet rats are here, and if I am seen talking to you, they will begin to suspect something."

Jim nodded, and he and his wife followed the teenager to another café several blocks away from the Opera House. They were seated in a private corner, well away from the crowds, and after drinks and snacks were ordered and delivered, Elise seemed to relax a bit. She sipped her small cup of coffee and took a deep breath.

"The story of Celeste's life is a rather lengthy one, but I will make it as short as I can," she said, staring down into her cup.

"Oh, no, please take your time," Melinda pleaded. "Even the smallest detail might be important."

Elise gave a trembling smile. "I want to help Celeste…she has always been so good and kind to us, and has protected us to the point where the men shake in their shoes whenever they come near the dormitories." Her timid smile suddenly grew into a full, confident one. "I know you would like her to find peace, but I am not sure if that is what she wants."

"Then tell us about her," Joe encouraged with a smile. "Maybe we can help convince both of you."

The young girl sighed. "How much, exactly, did she tell you?" she asked.

"She told us that her parents died when she was quite young…about five or six-years-old," Melinda replied. "Her mother was a former ballerina, her father was a stagehand, and after they died, she was raised by the ballet mistress."

"Madame Giry," Elise said with a smile. "She's a legend even now, as is her daughter. Both were very good at their art; Celeste insisted that their portraits be hung on one wall of the dormitories, just so that we always remember them."

"Then she told us that she was taken down for tea with the Phantom," Jim said, shaking his head over his cup of tea. "That's when she had to go."

"Oh, yes, sorry about that," the teen apologized. "I'm afraid one of the little ones had a rather bad nightmare, and Celeste is rather good at dealing with that sort of thing; she always manages to help us calm down after such an occurrence, and her presence helps us all have an easy rest."

"So what happened after her tea with the Phantom?" Melinda asked, leaning forwards over her glass of iced tea.

A small sigh escaped Elise's mouth. "The tea itself went very well, and the two of them laughed and talked, and formally introduced themselves to one another. He asked her to call him Erik, and before she knew it, Celeste had become a firm friend of the Phantom." She took another sip of her coffee. "He visited her occasionally, took care of her when she was ill, and gave her gifts on occasion."

"He became a sort of father figure to her," Jim guessed.

"Well, apparently, that's what Erik thought of himself as: a replacement in the form of a father to a girl who was deprived of all those things," Elise replied, her tone turning sad.

"But Celeste saw him differently," Melinda said, catching on.

Elise shook her head. "She fell in love with him," she said. "Erik was the man she wanted in her life for always; he was kind, handsome, and his voice just seemed to melt her heart as she sat and listened to him sing. At first, she thought that it was wrong for her to care of him in such a manner, but as she grew older, she couldn't deny her feelings towards him. However, she never told him how she felt."

"Why not?" Jim tilted his head to the side in puzzlement.

"Because before she could, a little girl by the name of Christine Daae arrived at the Opera House, and continued to turn things upside down between Erik and Celeste," Elise declared, her blue eyes full of pity for her friend. "One moment, everything was wonderful for Celeste in her relationship with the Phantom: she was completely happy to not tell Erik how she felt until she was of age, and fully prepared to live that way for quite some time. Then suddenly…Christine was there, taking all of Erik's attention and love, thinking that he was the angel her father had sent to her from Heaven."

"How old was Celeste when Christine arrived?" Melinda asked.

"About thirteen," was the surprising reply. "Today, it may seem as though it was merely a crush, but some things a person just knows about, don't you think?"

Jim and Melinda looked at one another and smiled, their hands joining as they remembered their wedding day. Elise laughed at the loving couple and raised her cup to them before drinking. When the cup landed on its saucer, she turned serious again.

"There, you see? Celeste knew that Erik was the one for her, and she wanted to tell him of what she felt, but she thought it would be best to wait until she was at least sixteen or seventeen before doing so. Instead, Christine came along and all of Erik's attention went to her. As he helped Christine learn to sing, encouraged her dancing, and whispered comforting things to her late at night, Celeste and all of her needs were put aside for the younger girl."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Melinda cried, her heart going out to the poor spirit-woman. "Why didn't she do something?"

The waiter arrived and refilled all of their glasses. Once he was gone, Elise answered the question.

"Because even though she was jealous of her young rival, Celeste thought of Christine as a little sister," the ballerina replied. "You must understand that Christine was a very innocent-minded girl, especially given the fact that she thought that an angel was visiting her and instructing her in music. It was Christine's innocence that made her so much like Meg Giry, whom Celeste considered a sister of her own blood; therefore, Celeste couldn't blame Christine for what had happened with Erik."

Jim shook his head in admiration. "Well, that was very mature of her," he said. "Most girls would treat the 'other woman' to a good dose of beatings and tell them to back off."

"Ah, but this was before the time that women could physically fight for the man they loved," Elise chided him. "Celeste did try to discourage Erik when it came to Christine, but he would not listen. You see, even as a child, Christine was a lovely girl with an exquisite vocal talent; therefore, Erik had fallen for someone that had the voice and appearance of an angel. He told Celeste that she no longer needed him and pushed her aside, focusing all of his attention on Christine."

Melinda could feel tears in her eyes. How would she had felt in Jim had pushed her aside for another girl, simply because of the girl's voice? What heartache must Celeste have gone through, knowing that the man she loved had cast her aside like an old piece of cloth?

"As the years passed, Celeste tried to maintain a good relationship with Erik, despite the fact that he was spent much of his time looking over Christine," Elise continued. "She went down to his lair, bringing things for tea that they could have together. Those visits, according to her, went as well as the ones that had happened before Christine's arrival. They would talk for a while about the Opera House, music, how Celeste was doing in her job as a messenger and maid of the Populaire. It took everything Celeste could think of to keep the conversation away from the topic of Christine."

"I'm getting a bad feeling about the next part," Jim muttered.

Elise's smile did not reach her eyes. "You guess correctly, _monsieur_," she said sadly. "For a while, Celeste was able to salvage a fraction of their old friendship; Erik still played and sang a little to her, had her there for tea and conversation, but it just wasn't enough for her. Although she was trying her hardest to simply remain a friend to him, Celeste found herself falling even deeper in love with Erik."

"Here it comes," Jim whispered, sipping his tea.

"Then came the day of _Hannibal_," Elise whispered, glancing around as though Celeste would appear at the mere sound of the opera's name.

"You mean the opera where Christine made her debut?" Melinda breathed excitedly.

Elise nodded. "You should all know what happened during that time, but what that fool Leroux _didn't_ put in his books was Celeste," she growled. "He was so focused on the Phantom-Christine- Raoul love triangle that he neglected to add her to the story, as though Celeste were not important at all!" She took a deep breath. "Then again, Celeste was not one to seek attention. She was merely a maid, a messenger to the managers, and someone who did not seek to be on the stage."

"She was shy," Melinda whispered, looking down at the table. "That's why no one noticed her; she didn't want to be a singer or a ballerina, so Erik and Leroux didn't notice her when it counted."

"_Oui_," Elise whispered in reply. "Celeste was shy. She tried to become bolder, but after Christine told her that she had seen the Phantom's lair, seen him unmasked and everything, Celeste stopped caring about anything, including her family and friends. Madame Giry noticed that something was troubling her eldest foster child, and tried to ask what was wrong, but Celeste merely claimed that everything was fine, even though it wasn't." She sighed and continued. "Celeste stopped going to see Erik entirely, thinking that, if it made Erik happy to be with Christine, she would let the man she loved go to pursue what he really wanted."

Melinda felt tears falling down her cheeks. "When did she decide she wanted to die?" she whispered.

"After the masquerade ball," was the soft reply. "She had watched Christine not only win the heart of Erik, but that of Raoul, the handsome Vicompt de Chagny, and could no longer bear it. She decided to spend all of her personal funds on a costume for the Masquerade, a rather daring outfit of red silk with black lace covering it and a black bodice. It was a bit scandalous, but since everyone was wearing a mask, no one would know who she was…or so she thought."

"But Erik found out about the dress," Jim put in, his voice confident in his judgment.

Elise nodded. "He had come up to visit her, as he had not done so for a while, and had seen her trying on the costume just before the ball that night. Erik then forbid her from wearing it, and she declared that she was a woman, not a child, and that he had no business telling her what to do. He went quiet and she stalked out of the room, putting her mask on her face and heading down to the ball."

Jim leaned closer to his wife. "I've got another bad feeling."

Another sad smile appeared on Elise's mouth. "Well, Erik appeared at the ball dressed as Red Death, his sword in hand as he mocked not only Carlotta, but the managers as well. After seeing him snatch Christine's engagement ring from around her neck and claiming that she belonged to him, Celeste made her final decision: without Erik, her heart was empty, and her life without meaning."

"So she bought the white dress, white rose headpiece, and killed herself?" Melinda asked, her heart plummeting.

"With laudanum," Elise said, shoving aside her empty cup. "As pure as she could get it."

Jim whistled. "That's powerful stuff," he said. "Good for sleeping, but too much of its pure form, and a person just never wakes up."

"An hour before the performance of _Don Juan_, she drank a large dose of the drug, lay herself out on her bed, and let the poison work." Elise shook her head. "Its funny, but Celeste told me that just when she felt herself fall into the drugged sleep, she could hear Erik whispering something to her, but she doesn't know what it was. A little while later, she said she felt warm, and then nothing."

"The fire got to her, that's what," Jim replied. "She died just as the fire reached her room."

"At least she didn't die in pain," Melinda said, reaching out for her husband's hand.

"But she's in pain now," Jim said, taking her hand in his. "There must be something we can do to make her at peace with everything."

"I think that she is at peace and that she is happy here," Elise said her voice confident.

"Why?" Melinda asked. "Crossing over into The Light brings peace and happiness…doesn't she want that?"

For a moment, Elise was quiet, gathering her thoughts. "I think she fears that, when she crosses over, she will see Erik still in love with Christine, and most likely is with the soprano in the afterlife," Elise answered. "Also, she feels useful and loved here, because we all think of her as a sister and friend. She is happy here with us, happy in a place where she is loved and needed."

"But she needs to cross over," Melinda emphasized. "Christine chose Raoul in the end, not Erik. She can find him there waiting for her!"

"And if he's not?" Elise's voice was filled with anger. "What if she goes there and Erik isn't waiting for her with loving arms? What if Christine chose Raoul to save his life and is, in fact, with Erik now? Do you want to condemn her to an eternity of unhappiness of watching Erik with his Christine?"

With that, the ballerina got up and stalked out of the café.

* * *

"Now I feel bad," Melinda whispered to her husband as they headed back to the hotel. 

"Don't," he said, sliding an arm around her waist to comfort her. "It's not your fault that this happened. You can only try and help Celeste to cross over."

"But Elise had a point," she said, glancing around to avoid being hit by a car. "What if Celeste crosses over and Erik is, in fact, with Christine? Or if he's not with Christine, what if he's with someone else, someone he was meant to be with and it's not her?"

"Then she'll find the one who was meant for her when she crosses over," Jim replied in a firm tone. "Everyone has a soulmate, and I believe that she'll find it after she crosses over."

"I don't think that'll be enough to convince her to go," his wife replied, her voice heavy with guilt. "If her foster mother or sister were alive, they would be able to help me convince her that everything would be alright, that she _should_ cross over and start fresh, not stay here forever."

"Well, they're not." Jim hastily escorted her past a rather sleazy-looking man outside the hotel and into the lobby. "They're long dead, and you need to help this girl find peace, or else she'll be stuck here babysitting ballerinas for all time." His tone was light and teasing as he kissed her forehead on the way back to their room.

Although she knew that Jim was trying to make her feel better, Melinda felt torn. Should she help Celeste cross over when she clearly didn't want to go? If she didn't help this spirit, it went against everything that her grandmother had taught her since she was a little girl, and Melinda couldn't bear the thought of disappointing everything her grandma had worked her entire life for. Elise had a point about Celeste finding Erik with another woman, but The Light was where all spirits were meant to go after death; once there, peace, warmth, and happiness were what awaited them.

'_But how do I get Celeste to see that_?' Melinda thought as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

AN: Okay, if no one reviews this story, it comes down. Immature, I know, but true. **Please review**! 


	6. Spiritual Thoughts

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** or **_Ghost Whisperer_**; I'm just borrowing them for further entertainment purposes (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers).

AN: Not much to say in this note except to ask for my readers to review. Please do! I'm begging you! (gets on knees) Please?

**Chapter 6: Spiritual Thoughts**:

Something was stirring within the walls of the Populaire. I could feel it in my very being, as could the other spirits. Those who were my friends in this afterlife-on-Earth told me that the coming of the Seer of the Dead, whom I knew of as Melinda, had disrupted the calm waters that we had enjoyed for so long; now the energies here were different to the point of being uncomfortable. We all felt it, even though we knew we could do nothing to stop it. Instead, we would merely have to wait until Melinda and her husband left Paris altogether.

I knew that what was happening was not Melinda's fault, though. She could not help being the person that she was, and to find someone so welcoming of their Gifts and Talents was quite refreshing, especially since her powers were real and not a fraud. Growing up in the Populaire, I had always heard about mediums and psychics who had set up shops all around Paris; all of them claimed to see the dead, but most (if not all) of them were false, each trying to swindle money away from the desperate relatives of those who had died.

'_But still, something **is** happening_,' I thought to myself as I watched my girls sleep soundly in their beds. '_I can feel it in the air like a small boat can feel ripples in the water_…'

Elise inhaled sharply and rolled over in her small bed, one arm going over her eyes as she let out a small snort. The whole thing made me smile, and I couldn't hold back a small chuckle. Since I did not need to sleep, I was able to keep a very watchful eye on the dorms, making sure both dancers and chorus girls slept peacefully and unharmed during the night. It had not always been so safe, here in the sleeping quarters, but I had made this task one of my highest priorities.

When I had been alive, many men had longed to see the pretty girls in the Opera House, even (or, maybe, especially) when they were not wanted. These men had quickly resorted to breaking into the dorms at times when they knew the girls were alone, doing so hours after a performance or during the night. Locks had not been installed because the managers always feared that, if there were a fire or a natural disaster, the girls would panic and not be able to get out. In the end, the girls had resorted to setting horrible traps on the doors to keep the men out.

'_But not anymore_,' I thought with a triumphant smirk as I stood at the rear of the room, my eyes firmly on the door. '_Never again will a girl be harmed in **this** Opera House_!'

When I had been alive, I could do nothing to help those that had grown to become friends. Throughout the years I had lived in the Populaire, I had seen many girls forced to leave because they found themselves with child and could not dance or sing onstage any longer. Now that I was dead, I could protect them. I had no quarrels with them falling in love and marrying, but if any man forced themselves inside, there would be hell to pay.

Elise shuffled again in her bed, causing me to sigh. The poor girl had been tossing and turning for two nights now, ever since she led Melinda and Jim out of the Populaire last night. Tonight would be Elise's second night of restless sleep, and I did not know why. I knew she had her secrets, as everyone does, but she had seemed distant, ever since she'd left our two guests at the front door of the Opera House. The spirits who were my friends had reported seeing her step outside with them for a few moments, but she had quickly returned indoors and to the dorms, so I was not worried.

'_Still, something is troubling her mind_,' I thought as I watched her toss and turn once more.

I heaved another sigh and went to Elise's bedside, gently placing my hand a hairsbreadth above her forehead; I then focused all of my calming thoughts towards her and immediately felt her relax. It was a trick I had learned long ago, after a few girls had experienced intense bouts of homesickness; thinking I could help them, I had turned all thoughts towards the loving memories I still had, channeling those feelings to the girls so that they could rest.

Beneath my hand, Elise eased into blissful sleep, and I couldn't help but smile fondly down at the girl. She looked almost exactly like her ancestor, Christine Daae, only with black hair and blue eyes. The moment the girl had first stepped into the Populaire, I had felt a sort of connection to her, and when she had stared around the dormitory with her big blue eyes filled with fear, I knew I had to pay special attention to her.

"Sleep well, _petite_," I whispered down to her and rose to resume my place at the far end of the room, opposite the door that led inside so that, if anyone entered, the first thing they saw was _me_.

On my way there, I stopped by the portraits of Madame Giry and Meg. The likenesses to the actual thing were quite good, as I had described my beloved foster mother and sister to a girl who had been not only a dancer, but also an artist. Meg's blue eyes stared at me, twinkling with innocence and mischief while Madame's eyes firmly scolded the observer to 'behave.'

'_I miss you both_,' I thought at them, hoping that they could hear me. If only I could explain to them why I was still here…

But they had always thought the worst whenever it came to what had happened during that escapade with Erik. Madame thought I was jealous of Christine being in the spotlight, and Meg thought that I was merely hateful of the girl, but it wasn't true. Christine had been a sweet naïve girl, it's true, but I was truly fond of the girl with the chestnut-colored curls.

'_How could you **not** learn to like, or even love, someone who looked at you with such bright eyes and a delightful smile_?' I thought, turning my head back towards Elise. '_Besides, it wasn't her fault that all this had happened_.'

Over time, I had had much time to think about what had happened and what I had done. Christine was not at fault for what had occurred, and I had never blamed her, though it sometimes seemed like I did. After she had gained all of Erik's attention, I had turned my back on her, not even bothering to advise her on how to deal with Erik and his feelings. I, above all others, knew him best, and yet, I had done nothing to stop all of those tragedies from occurring.

'_I could have helped to put some sense into everyone's heads, but had instead stopped caring about everything but myself and my own hurt feelings_.'

That is probably what hurt the most, that I could have helped poor Christine instead of merely allowing Erik to torment her and her sweetheart, Raoul. So many people today thought of Raoul as a 'fop,' a foolish man who cared for nothing but his looks, money, and acting like an aristocrat. In fact, Raoul had been quite brave to go after Erik in the Phantom's own domain, risking his life for the woman he loved. He had also been very kind to me and my ballerina friends, often bringing us large boxes of candy for us to share while he took Christine out for dinner, to parties, or shopping in town.

But there was so much more to the story than what had happened during that time. After the fire, and after the Opera House had been rebuilt, I had suddenly become curious as to what had happened to all of my friends and family members. Deciding to leave the confines of the place I would gladly call 'home' for eternity, I focused all my thoughts on finding Madame Giry and Meg. Immediately, I had managed to transport myself to their new home in a nicer part of Paris.

To my surprise, Madame seemed to have aged greatly since my death. I had located a calendar on the wall and saw that I had been dead for a little over ten years. The Opera House had been completely rebuilt and finished over three years after I had died, and as I watched Madame walk around the two-storey house, I wondered why Meg had not rejoined the ballet there. A look around the room had me finding several postcards from America, and from them I learned that Meg had instead joined the Russian Ballet, which was as good as the Populaire's had been.

Of course, I had been both hurt and surprised at the discovery, but then I understood that neither one of them would ever return to the place where so much horror and pain had been caused, one of which was my very own suicide. Sighing to myself, I watched my foster mother gaze fondly at photographs of myself, Meg, and Christine, of which she had several. I saw pictures of Meg in a glorious ballet outfit, and one of Christine in a wedding gown as she clung to Raoul, the two of them beaming like mad amidst garlands of flowers and silk drapery.

The picture of Christine happily married to Raoul had shocked me. I had fully expected her to fall into Erik's arms, to fall in love with the man who would move the very Populaire, stone by stone with his bare hands, should she ask him to. True, she had been frightened by the things Erik had done both for her and to her, but the look of intrigue in Christine's eyes after every event had assured me that she would, in fact, choose Erik over Raoul. I had felt so sure that she would wed Erik that I had staked my life and soul on it. This meant that, in the end, I had killed myself for nothing. I was dead and Erik was probably alone in the world once more…

That despairing thought had sent me straight back to the Populaire, where I had once again began pacing the hallways, fully ready to become one of the legendary wailing spirits forever caught in their own inner torment. However, it had been that night that I had come across a little girl named Maggie who needed me as a friend. After a few weeks in Maggie's company, I found that she reminded me so much of Christine that I had to go and find her, if only to see how she was doing. After Maggie had fallen asleep that night, I thought of Christine.

At once, I found myself at the De Chagny estate outside of Paris, landing right in the middle of one of their large parlor rooms. It was a bright maroon-themed room with gold trimming everywhere, and was both grand and comfortable. Chairs and tables of dark wood gave it an elegant and welcome feel, and I could see why it was obviously a favorite room. The walls were brightly lit with candles and lamps, and there was a large painting of my childhood friend and her husband above the fireplace.

Walking through the parlor, I saw black-and-white pictures of the De Chagny children, two girls and two boys, all of them quite adorable with their big eyes and curls, though it was impossible to distinguish which parent they resembled most without color. Satisfied that my friend was happy, I was preparing to leave when Christine and Raoul entered the room.

"Raoul, I think it would be best if we at least made some sort of contribution to the Opera House," pleaded Christine, her face full of anxiety. "Please, it would mean so much to me if we did!"

"Christine, the Opera House was completed quite some time ago, almost seven years have passed," Raoul replied, going to sit down in a chair. "Why now? Besides, they already have a patron!"

"Patron or not, I think it would be a good idea," Christine said, her tone begging for him to give in. "What if one of the children wants to learn to sing and dance there in the near future? Shouldn't we at least have some sort of guarantee that they will actually be accepted, especially since musical training has come into fashion amongst our social peers?"

The fact that little, naïve Christine had managed to mature enough to understand the mechanisms of society was enough to astound and impress me; motherhood and being exposed to the upper class had made Christine an adult, one that saw what was happening in the outside world beyond her front yard. I smiled and nodded, allowing myself to return home, fully content with what I had seen and not wanting to be privy to what was obviously a private matter.

I could not have been more surprised when, a few years later, a little girl with blue eyes and dark curls arrived at the Opera House, timidly introducing herself to the ballerinas as Justine de Chagny. The thought of Christine sending her little girl to the Opera House that she had, indirectly, helped destroy was a shock, but if Justine had true talent in ballet, then the Populaire was where she belonged.

By that time, I had become well-known amongst those that lived in the dormitories, and the girls had a ways of introducing me to new-comers. They would say that they had a "special friend" who watched over them and helped protect them from the men who wanted to hurt the _corps de ballet_ members, a friend who also helped with homesickness and made them all feel welcome. As any new arrival would, Justine was fully ready to accept any sort of friend, and after wards she swore the oath to never tell a soul outside the _corps de ballet_ about me, save for the daughters she sent here to train (if there were any). With that done, I was invited to join the girls in their welcome of their newest member.

And so began my protectiveness of Christine and Raoul's bloodline. After Justine had gotten over her shock of seeing a ghost, she became excited about meeting me. She told me of how her mother and father had spoken fondly of an old friend of theirs, a woman named Celeste that they had known a long time ago and who had died in the fire.

"They loved her so much that they named my new baby sister after her!" she had declared happily at my surprised expression.

Needless to say, I was shocked at the revelation, and never told Justine that **_I_** was the Celeste that her mama and papa had known all those years ago. Eventually, she managed to figure it out herself, and confronted me about it. When I admitted that it was indeed me whom her sister had been named after, Justine had insisted on telling her mother about me because she deserved to know. However, I could not let such hurtful knowledge be brought on my old friend.

"It would not do to have her suffer, knowing that I am still here because of what happened so long ago," I had said, looking deep into Justine's blue eyes and frowning. "I want her to be happy and enjoy her life, for that is what she deserves."

And so Christine never found out about me until the day she died. In 1917, my friend lay ill on her deathbed, her devoted Raoul by her side and her children and grandchildren watching over her. After leaving the Populaire, Justine had started the tradition of keeping in touch with me by sending letters addressed to the _corps_ at the Opera House, and so had informed me that her mother was near death. I quickly decided to see her one last time before it was too late, and so, after instructing my girls to keep a sharp eye open until I returned, I transported myself once more to the De Chagny estate.

Christine lay in a large bed covered in white-and-gold sheets, surrounded by her loved ones. Justine saw me as I approached an empty space to Christine's left-hand side, Raoul clutching her right hand as though to keep her anchored to life and to him. I watched my friend smile at the man she loved and the children she raised before her eyes fluttered and turned to look towards me. Her eyes seemed to widen a bit as she saw me, and she whispered my name. Raoul seemed confused as to why she spoke my name, but he finally understood that she was fading and could see those who had passed from life. For some reason, the thought that Christine could see me seemed to ease Raoul's pain as he spoke to his wife one last time.

"If Celeste is here, you must go to her, my love" he pleaded. "She will help guide you to Heaven, like all angels do!"

I knew that I was no angel, but had no way to tell either of them that I was not going to help Christine find the light to Heaven. Instead, I watched as she closed her eyes and peacefully died, her body going limp as Raoul wept sorrowful tears. Even as I watched, Christine's spirit rose from her body and formed next to me, her eyes wide in surprise as her spirit changed from an elderly woman to the young soprano she had once been at the Opera House, still wrapped in a delicate white silk nightgown.

"Celeste?" she asked, her hand reaching for me. "Have you come back to take me to Heaven?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her that I was never going to cross over into a peaceful afterlife; instead, I decided to spare her the pain of knowing that I was going to suffer here for eternity because of what I had done so long ago. I put a false smile on my face and prepared to lie as I never had before.

"No, Christine, I am not here to take you to Heaven," I said as kindly as I could, still holding the smile upon my face. "I am just here to show you the way, that's all. Do you see a light?"

An innocent, joyous smile lit Christine's face, making her glow. "Yes!" she cried out in wonder as her hands clasped over her breast. "Oh, Celeste, it's so bright and lovely and warm!"

A twinge of envy tore through my heart, though I refused to let it show on my face. The Light she was seeing was not for me, and probably never would be. I carefully hid my emotions and continued to speak to her.

"Then you must go to it, Christine," I gently instructed her. "Raoul will meet you there when his time comes, and you must be there waiting for him."

Christine nodded. "Aren't you coming, too?" she asked, gazing at me with wide eyes.

I bit back a retort. "No, not now," I replied in a soft voice, speaking as though I were addressing a child. "I'm afraid I have many things to do here. But you must go now, Christine, please."

Again, she nodded, but this time, she reached out and touched my hand. "Then I will see you soon as well, my friend," she softly whispered to me with a smile. "We will have much to talk about!"

That was a day I was dreading, but I would not tell her that. "Indeed we will," I said. "Now go." I shooed her onwards.

Christine gave a light laugh and turned away, vanishing as I watched. Once she was gone, I looked back towards the De Chagny family. Raoul had seemed to age dramatically in those few moments, his body bent over as though the entire city of Paris lay on it. Beside him were his sons and daughters, all of them whispering words of love and encouragement, saying that their mother was in a better place and that she would wish for him to go on and not weep so for her.

Raoul nodded his head, and I watched as he stood from his stool and moved to a wheeled chair that I had not noticed before. He sat in it, slowly and carefully, clutching the armrests as his son began to push him out the door. Justine lagged behind until she was the only one left in the room. Once the others were gone, she turned and looked at me. There were tears in her eyes and she seemed to desperately need to speak to me.

"Has she gone to Heaven?" she whispered. "You spoke to her, I saw you, but I did not see her!"

"She as gone over, _petite_, do not worry," I reassured her with a genuine smile. "She will be happy where she is, and I am sure that she will be there when your father is ready to see her once more."

She seemed to grow more content with that information. "Thank you, Celeste," Justine said, grinning. "Would you like to meet your namesake? My sister is named for you, you know."

I shook my head. "No, though I am honored that your mother thought enough of me to give my name to her child," I said, looking away towards the floor. "I must return to the Opera House before something happens."

Justine nodded and I let myself drift towards the Opera Populaire.

* * *

From that moment on, there never once was a generation of De Chagny girls that did not attend the Populaire for lessons. I had the privilege of seeing many of Christine's grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and other descendants of her line come to follow in her footsteps, and all of them became friends with me and the other ballerinas that I cared for. 

'_Strange that I would have so many more friends while dead than when I was alive_,' I thought, taking a glance at the entry door.

I'd had few friends that I could be close to while I had worked here, scraping all of my money together to try and make a good living. I had no idea what had been done with my inheritance from my father's death, but I was certain that Madame Giry had given the money to Meg, since paying to join and travel with the Russian Ballet was expensive. The thought did not bother me, since I felt that Meg deserved it more than anyone else. Besides, Meg would have seen to it that Madame was taken care of towards the end of her life, and that made me feel a bit more at peace with myself.

Glancing towards the window, I saw that dawn was approaching, and that I would need to take a walk around the Opera House in case Melinda and Jim were to return. I knew that they would, but when, exactly, they would arrive, I did not know, and I wanted to be prepared for them.

'_I just wish that she would leave me alone_,' I thought as the first bit of golden-red sunlight crested the horizon. '_I'm happy here_! _I have friends and people who need me. I feel more loved now than before, since there's no Meg or Christine to contend with, and I can do things that I never did before. Why should I give all this up for the uncertainty of the afterlife_?'

Madame had loved me, but she had always been so busy taking care of Meg, Christine, and her dancers that I eventually fell to the last thing in her affections. Erik had cared about me for a while, but had also turned to Christine, leaving me alone once more. I'd had no one for the last part of my life, and now that I had love and companionship, I was not going to leave it without a good reason, and 'being at peace' did not count, since I already had it! _This_ was where I belonged, and as much as I liked and admired Melinda and her husband, they were not going to convince me that the Light was better than this. The Opera House was my home, and here is where I planned to stay…forever.

* * *

AN: (sighs) I wish that people would review. I guess I'll hurry and finish this story, then move onto the next one. Thanks to those who reviewed, and please keep showing your support! Thanks! 


	7. A Visit to the Cemetery

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Ghost Whisperer_** or **_Phantom_**. Only Celeste is mine.

AN: Once again, I do not know any part of France and am incorporating it to fit with the Phantom imagery. To those who reviewed and gave encouragement, thank you! You make me so happy! Unfortunately, I'm going to finish this story ASAP, because my inspiration on this story is running low, and I want to get started on a new Phantom story as this one is done. Thanks again!

**Chapter 7: A Visit to the Cemetery:**

As she ate her breakfast pastry, Melinda gazed out the window of the café, watching tourists, Parisians, and customers pass by without really noticing them. Instead, her thoughts were strictly focused on the spirit which currently haunted the dormitories of the Opera House, as well as that spirit's past and present.

'_Did the whole thing with the Opera Ghost, a.k.a. the Phantom, really happen_?' she thought to herself. '_But it's just a story_! _Normal people didn't live in Opera Houses and demand money and ran the whole thing from secret passages and underground caverns_!'

On the other hand, most people didn't see spirits, either, and yet, here she was: Melinda Gordon, thinking about how to help a real ghost. Besides, some things in fiction are based on actual face, so why shouldn't the whole thing with the Phantom be real? After all, she saw genuine ghosts all the time, so why should the whole legend of the Phantom be dismissed as fiction?

'_But if the whole story was real, why is Celeste still here, haunting the Opera Populaire_?'

It was that question which puzzled Melinda the most. The typical ghost was usually unhappy about their situation, thus why they sought out those who could help them cross over. Most ghosts wanted peace, wanted to be sure that their family members were alright and could go on without their loved one. Melinda was sure that Celeste knew that Madame Giry, Meg, and Christine all ending up living full lives, so why was she so desperate to stay here?

'_Especially since all of her family and friends are dead_,' she thought, finishing off her coffee. '_If they're no longer here, why is she_? _Surely she would have been tired enough of this life to want to move on to something better_!'

A firm hand on her arm startled Melinda out of her thoughts. Jim's concerned blue eyes were focused on her, and he had tight grip on her hand, showing that he wanted to know what was wrong. She shook her head as she motioned towards the doorway. Jim nodded and picked up the check, paying it so that they could head out to the Populaire.

* * *

Sitting in the quiet of my own room, I was not surprised to sense Melinda's return to the Populaire. A quiver of _something_ flowed through me the moment she set foot inside, and I knew that she was looking for me. Sighing, I transported myself to the dormitories, feeling very thankful that they were empty at this time of day. The present ballet mistress, Madame Reynard (a former ballet rat and charge of mine), had the girls practicing for the morning and the afternoon, only letting them out for lunch and a few small rests; this would give me ample time to spend with Melinda and Jim. 

I sat on one of the beds and waited, feeling them draw closer to the door before opening it. Melinda seemed unsurprised to see me, but Jim still seemed a bit started by the fact that he could, in fact, see a spirit. I nodded to them and gestured for them to come closer, smoothing my skirts as I did so. I could feel the two of them glancing around the room, taking in the white curtains, the numerous pale blue ceiling-hangings that divided one bed from the next, and finally, the paintings of Madame and Meg hanging on the wall. Once their inspection ended, Melinda turned towards me.

"Celeste," she began, leaning closer. "Celeste, you must realize that you need to cross over."

I rolled my eyes as I stood. "Mademoiselle, even though I do not know why I am still here even after finding peace with my situation, there really is no reason for me to cross into the Light," I declared, turning around to face the portraits of my foster mother and sister.

"What about your family?" Jim asked. "Don't you want to see them again?"

Whirling around, I turned to face them. "I barely remember my parents, and my foster family spent more time doting on Christine, the ballet rats, and the Opera House than they did me," I stated. "Erik cared for me while I was young, but then forgot about me to focus on Christine. I have more love and friendship now than I did while I was living. Why should I give all that up for an uncertain afterlife?"

"Because you'll finally have the chance to get to see your foster family and truly get to know your parents!" Melinda pleaded. "You'll find love, peace, and happiness there, I know you will! I see it in the eyes of those I help cross over, and it is in the Light that you truly belong!"

"I belong nowhere!" I yelled. Somewhere in the room, something shattered as I lost my temper. "I had no place among the ballerinas, the chorus girls, or anywhere close to the stage! I was a maidservant, a cleaner and a messenger! I have a higher purpose now protecting the girls and making them happy! Why can't you understand that?"

Not waiting for an answer, I transported myself to the only place where I could truly be alone.

* * *

"_That_ certainly went well," Jim said sarcastically, sighing as he looked at his wife. 

Melinda sighed. "I wish she wasn't so stubborn," she said, head in her hands as she sat down on a bed. "Most spirits, after they find peace here, _want_ to go into the Light. Why is Celeste so different?"

"Well, she didn't exactly have the ideal life," Jim replied, moving over to sit beside her. "A traumatizing, unusual life leading up to heartache and suicide is enough to mess anyone up, living or dead." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe she prefers the way things are. She's loved, wanted, and needed by so many…is it really so wrong to leave her here like this?"

Melinda shook her head. "That's what I keep asking myself," she said softly. "But I have to help the troubled spirits that I meet; it's what I do, and what Grandma did before me. I can't give up on that!"

Jim was silent for a moment, deep in thought. "Well, what if we go check out her gravesite?" he suggested. "You usually find some sort of answer or revelation when you visit the cemetery."

A smile lit her face. "Let's do it."

* * *

It had taken quite a bit of pantomiming and mispronounced French to get the directions they needed to the cemetery, but now they were finally on their way. The car was silent as Jim drove down the country lane, heading out past open fields and woods, passing by a few cottages and tiny communities before reaching their destination. After pulling into the parking lot, Melinda jumped out and looked around. A few people were here to visit relatives, but the place was mostly empty…and Melinda could see why. 

At least half of the place was full of old or ancient burial plots, some probably several centuries old. Evidently, when the original place had been filled up to its limit, the government had refused to mix the old historical tombs with the newer ones. Therefore, the more recent burials were set in another section across the parking lot from the old one. This suited Melinda just fine, since she really didn't want anyone but Jim to see her talk to Celeste. Perhaps someone might come along to visit an ancestor, but the chances of that were probably slim.

Taking a deep breath, Melinda walked towards the older half of the cemetery. As she moved, Jim came up beside her and took her hand in his, either for his own comfort or for her own, she didn't know (or care) which. After a few rows of tombstones, both she and Jim realized that the old cemetery was huge, and it would probably take them all day to find Celeste's grave. Sighing, Melinda was about to give up when she spotted a little girl in a frilly white dress. The child had adorable red curls, large brown eyes, and was clearly not living, since Jim gave no sign of seeing her.

"Hello," Melinda said softly, trying to get the girl's attention and not any other spirit's. As she spoke, she could feel a pang in her heart; it always hurt to see a child's spirit, given that they died so young.

The child looked up at her in surprise. Melinda gestured for her to hush, and the girl obeyed, replying in a whisper, "Can you see me?"

Melinda nodded. "Yes I can, and I need you to help me with something." The little girl nodded eagerly. "Now, I need to find someone named Celeste De Francq. Do you know where she is?"

The child nodded again. "She's five rows down that way," she said in a whisper as she pointed towards Melinda's left. "She comes here sometimes and plays with me. She's really nice."

Melinda bit her lip. "Sweetie, can you tell me why you're here?" she asked, desperate to get this child to cross over to her family.

"Because I got really sick and died," the girl answered, her huge eyes sad and lonely. "Mama and Papa used to come here and visit me, but they stopped a long time ago."

"I'm afraid that they stopped coming because they're waiting for you someplace else, someplace very bright and happy," Melinda replied with a soft smile. "Did you see a pretty white light before today?" The girl shook her head. "Do you see it now?" This time she nodded. "Then you need to go there, because your mama and papa are there waiting for you to go be with them. Go on."

A huge smile lit the child's face before she skipped off and disappeared between two tall gravestones. Melinda sighed and looked up at her husband, who was studying her with raised eyebrows.

"No, I know, and I won't ask a single thing," he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

Melinda shook her head and led him in the direction the girl had pointed. Twenty minutes later, they found Celeste kneeling in front of a grave…namely that of her own. Melinda felt a shiver go down her spine and seriously hoped that she died in such a way that she never had to see her own grave. Not wanting to be noticed yet, she turned her head to get a look at the graves surrounding Celeste's. What she saw stopped her breath in her lungs.

If Melinda had ever doubted the truth behind the existence of the Phantom and the characters in the story, those doubts were now completely gone. There in cold, solid stone stood the proof she need to see with her own two eyes. Reaching out, she took Jim's hand and led him towards the stones. She heard him gasp and read the names out loud.

"Christine, Countess De Chagny, beloved wife and mother," he said. "Raoul, Count De Chagny, beloved husband and father…Madame Antoinette Giry, beloved mother and teacher…."

"Meg is not here," Celeste said softly, not bothering to look up at them. "She died in Russia, and is next to her husband, Nicholas. Her children moved to America and all of her descendants have lived there ever since."

"But you are buried here," Melinda said, her hand not leaving Jim's as she walked towards the spirit, dragging him behind her.

"I was buried here because Christine's father is here." Celeste stood from her spot and looked to her left. "That large mausoleum over there is his…I think that Christine wanted me close to him so she could visit the two of us at the same time and leave flowers."

Melinda gazed over and saw an incredibly large tomb, the name **_Daae_** inscribed above the doorway. The black gate that kept intruders out was rusty, but still untouched, and was surrounded by huge statues. It was quite impressive, but had a stark, cold quality to it. Christine's father must have been very rich to afford such a monument.

"Celeste, I'm sorry that we caused you pain," Jim said, edging closer to her, though she did not turn to face him. "We just feel that no spirit should spend eternity here when there is so much more waiting for them on the other side." He stopped a small distance away, close enough to touch her, but refusing to do so. "Will you come back to the Opera House with us and talk about it?"

* * *

I glanced between the graves of my loved ones and the monument built in tribute to Gustave Daae, not letting my emotions show. Looking at my own grave had bothered me at first, after Justine de Chagny had returned from her mother's burial and informed me of where my body had been laid to rest. I had been surprised that my physical self was so close to not only Christine, but also to her father's remains; Gustave Daae had been in Christine's heart longer than any other person except Raoul, and to be laid so close to him had been quite touching. Still, to see my name engraved on a tombstone and know what lay beneath it had felt both chilling and disturbing. I had overcome it, though, and now it was a quiet, peaceful place for me to gather my thoughts whenever I felt as though the weight of the Opera House crushing my heart. 

I sighed, allowing my shoulders to sag as I stepped up to Madame Giry's grave, my hand hovering an inch above the stone. After that one visit to her home so long ago, I had never looked in on her again; I hadn't had the heart to see the face of my foster mother, looking so sad and lonely after Meg had left her. Justine had been my link to the world, her social class having all of the connections to gather the information I needed; it had been her who had told me of Meg marrying a man in Russia, for Christine had always kept in touch with dear little dancer.

And now they are all gone. Although the cemetery was a good place for me to think, it tended to remind me that I was alone in the world, and that no one could help me with my situation. And yet, here stood a young woman who could speak to the dead and help them…how could I _not_ trust her?

"Very well," I said aloud. "I will go with you to the Opera House. Besides, it is getting late."

Melinda smiled at me and nodded, motioning for me to follow her and Jim to their car.

* * *

AN: Short, I know, but we finally find out a bit about Erik in the next chapter! Please review! 


	8. Down Once More

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** or **_Ghost Whisperer_**; I'm just borrowing them for further entertainment purposes (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers).

AN: Okay, in this chapter, we sort of find out what happened to Erik, even though there really is no Erik in it until the next chapter. I think this story will wrap up very, very soon, and then I'll get started on a new one. Hopefully that one will do better than this story did! Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 8: Down Once More:**

I never did like the horseless carriage, the things that modern folks called 'cars.' They were so loud and noisy, and the horrible smell they produced made me gag. If I could still be sick to my stomach, I would. Now I had to sit in the back of one of them and watch the trees go by at blinding speeds, much to my disappointment. I hadn't been so close to trees in over a century, and I longed to be able to see them go slowly by as we drove past. However, I did not want them to risk an accident just for my sake, so I let Jim drive back to Paris in peace. Besides, riding this way was different from transporting myself, and I also received, however brief, a view of the countryside on the outskirts of town.

Very soon, Jim had pulled into a spot at the rear of the Populaire. I did not wait for them, merely focused my thoughts and sent myself back to the dorms. The girls were safely at practice, so I took a seat in a chair by the window and watched as people passed by, going about their business. A few moments later, Jim and Melinda burst into the room, and I had to smile and wonder how they managed to get past security. On the other hand, it would not have been hard, considering the tours that constantly went through here daily.

"Celeste," Melinda said, walking up to me and kneeling in front of my chair. "I know that it's hard to let go, but you need to move on. There are wonderful things waiting for you on the other side, like your family and friends…"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "My foster mother was too busy with Meg, Christine, and her charges within the _corps de ballet_ to pay much attention to me," I retorted, standing up and walking away from her. "When the whole situation with Christine arose, Madame was so busy trying to stop Erik and help Raoul that she never tried to see why I was sad in the first place! Then she was always running around, protecting Christine and Meg so that she completely forgot all about me." I turned and glared at Melinda. "I do not want to see them. Just let me be!"

Something shattered in the room, and a gust of air rushed into the room. Jim instantly wrapped his arms around Melinda's waist, trying to protect her. "Okay," he said, looking at me. "Well, why don't you try venting your anger out on someone who deserves it?"

I blinked at him in surprise. "Who?" I asked suspiciously.

"How about Erik…or, perhaps, his grave?" asked Melinda. "You know, maybe you'd feel better after shouting out your feelings of anger and pain instead of holding on to them."

Now, that was something I had never thought about before. Many times in both my life and death I had longed to scream out in frustration, but had only kept the words back, pushing them deep inside my heart and never letting them escape. Several of my little charges in the past had said that the best way to feel better and find peace was to scream and yell it out so that it did not keep building up and hurting one's heart; perhaps it was time to let it show itself.

However, there was only one small problem with their idea…

* * *

"I do not know where Erik is buried," Celeste told them in a whisper. 

Melinda stared at her. "What do you mean you don't know where he's buried?" she blurted out in shock. "Isn't he with Madame Giry and everyone at the cemetery?"

Celeste shook her head. "In all the times I have been there and explored it, I have never seen his tombstone. I doubt that he would have wanted to be buried so near to Madame, considering what happened," she said, turning away to look out the window. "And to be so near Christine would have been heartbreaking. No, I don't think that he is buried in that cemetery. For all I know, he could have left France all together and died as far away from his painful memories as possible."

"Well, what about the house on the lake?" Jim suggested. Celeste's head jerked towards him. "I mean, what if all three of us went down there and you were able to vent your frustration?"

Melinda watched as Celeste bit her lip in thought. "What could it hurt to go back to the lake?" she softly asked. "We could go with you, in case you'd like to talk after your venting."

The ghost turned and looked at her. "I have not been there since…well, since several months before I died," she whispered. "Everywhere else I have been, but not there. I haven't even been into one of the secret tunnels since then. I do not even know if the secret passages still remain!"

"They do," said a voice from the doorway. The three turned to spot Elise closing the door behind her. "Sorry, but I needed a ribbon for my shoes. The passages do exist, since they were made from stone and not wood. The outer shell of the Opera House was spared, and since most of the passages were covered with stone doors and latches, they were left alone and built around." She blushed. "I know because we ballet rats like to explore them for a short while between dance rehearsals."

Instead of looking relieved at Elise's information, Celeste looked angry. "You must never go into the passageways again!" she snapped. "If they were left standing, then the deadly traps that the Phantom created are still there and you could be hurt, even killed!" She focused her brown eyes on Elise's own blue ones. "The Opera Ghost had little pity for fools who did not keep their hands at the level of their eyes, nor their noses out of his business and his tunnels!"

Elise looked frightened. "Did he really have traps?" she gasped, looking at her friend.

"Yes," Celeste declared. "I know because I was sometimes allowed to watch while he made and planted them, just so I would know which tunnels _not_ to take while going to visit him. Promise me that you will never go down into the caverns again!" The young girl frantically nodded her head. "Good. Now, spread the word to the girls. They must know of this at once! I will not have one of you girls harmed because of your foolish curiosity!"

Elise raced off, leaving the others to themselves.

* * *

I gave a huff of frustration before turning towards Melinda and Jim. "I was not joking about the traps," I warned them. "If you still wish to go with me there, I will guide you. However, you must bring something to mark the traps, in case I do cross over and cannot help you come back." 

Melinda nodded and looked around the room. She spotted a box of chalk, which the girls sometimes used to mark steps on the floor of the dorms so that they could practice before bed. Melinda counted out four sticks of chalk, dividing them between her and Jim before she counted out a few more, in case they needed extras. I directed them towards a drawer which held flashlights that were used for when the electricity went out, the two of them each taking a large one in order to better see their way with. Once they were ready, I showed them a secret doorway that led from the dormitories, one which I knew had not been used in over 140 years.

* * *

Melinda couldn't help the shiver that went down her spine as they descended into the depths of the Populaire. The air was heavy and full of dust, and the spider webs that hung from the ceiling of the passageways looked thick enough to pull down and make sheets out of. In front of her and Jim was Celeste, who was an eerie, glowing, shapeless wisp as she led them down into the secret caves. It was hard to believe that a man had used these very tunnels every day for years, strolling though them as a normal person navigated through a city street. 

'_The poor man_,' she thought as she directed her flashlight back and forth along the tunnel's walls and floor. '_It's so sad that he had to use these corridors instead of walking through the building like any other person_.'

"Stop!" Celeste's voice snapped in the darkness. Both Melinda and Jim froze in their tracks. "In front of you is a slab of stone that will cave away if stepped on. Go around it to your left, avoiding the crack in the floor at all costs."

Jim pointed his flashlight down and saw that there were indeed several cracks running down the center of the floor, creating a barely visible square on their right. He carefully stepped over to the left and wrote down "step here" on the stone, then carefully walked over it. Once he was on the other side, away from the trap, he held out his hand to Melinda, who gladly took it and stepped over.

"Alright, continue on," Celeste ordered, her shapeless form moving forwards.

"You think she's unhappy with us?" Jim muttered to her as they began walking once more.

"Well, considering we're forcing her to visit a place where the man she loved once lived, and where she fell in love with the man before he left her for someone else...yeah, I think she might be," Melinda replied in a sarcastic voice.

There was a moment's pause. "Fair enough," Jim said, keeping his eyes on the floor and walls.

"There is another trap there," Celeste's voice warned. The couple stopped. "This one calls down a Punjab lasso, so you must raise a free hand to the level of your eyes and jump over that bit of loose stone in the center of the floor."

Jim and Melinda did so, barely avoiding the trap. This time, Melinda knelt down and made a mark, an arrow pointing out where to jump and how far. Satisfied with the warning, she turned and continued to follow her husband and their barely-visible guide.

* * *

I was not happy leading them down to Erik's sanctuary. No one except myself and Christine had ever been down there, and for Christine, it had been a nightmare. For me, the House on the Lake was Paradise, and I wished more than anything that I had seen it one last time before my death, though I never had the heart to return afterwards. I could still remember the glow of the wax candles, the sound of Erik's music filling the air as he sang, all of it mixing so wonderfully with the waves lapping on the shores and the boat in the lake…to me, it been the most magical place in the world. 

And now I was take two strangers down there to shatter the pure musical holiness of Erik's home, the place where he had created his music for _Don Juan_. In my heart, I hoped that Erik would understand, but then…he wasn't alive to beg forgiveness from. Sighing, I continued the trek, using the route with the fewest traps, of which there were only two. Thanks to Erik's protective nature, he had created a passageway just for me to use, which had only two traps so that there was no chance for me to get hurt if I should accidentally trigger a trap. The Punjab was set far too high for a person of my small stature to get caught in, though it could easily choke Jim. The trap that was the hole in the ground lead to a soft landing in a place that was close to Erik's house. A bell would ring a warning in the house after someone had triggered the trap, and after having someone slide through several storey levels of slick tunnels, the intruder would land on a cushion in a locked room for Erik to find and drag away from his home. While they were effective traps, none of the two could hurt me if I should become caught in them, for which I had thanked him for.

By now we had reached the entryway to the main cavern. Many times over the past few years, the girls in the dormitories had brought several versions of the **_Phantom of the Opera_** film to watch during holidays, and I had often been included in those gatherings. It wasn't very often that I had a chance to watch a film, and I usually considered it a treat whenever I could see one. Ironically, the fact that each time I _was_ invited happened to be the times that Erik's wrongly-portrayed story was being watched. Whenever I watched those films, I had to resist the urge to blurt out what was wrong with certain things, though the girls sometimes asked if it was right or not.

Of all the different versions of the House on the Lake, it was Andrew Lloyd Webber's version that came closest, though the house was much larger than in the film. Instead of just the room with the Phoenix-shaped bed, the one that held the life-like image of Christine, and the large space where Erik created his music and art, there were at least half a dozen others. After all, an artist needs a great deal of space to store and work on his many projects, and a cavern of only three or four rooms just would not do when it came to Erik's artistic genius.

The layout of the real-life caverns was quite simple. Standing with the Phoenix-bed room to the person's right and the lake to the left, and looking straight ahead, on the right was: the Phoenix bedroom, the room which held Erik's shrine to Christine, then the kitchen, the library, my own personal bedroom, and then three large storage rooms holding art supplies and cloth that Erik had stolen from the Populaire's art closets and seamstress workrooms. After the storage rooms stood a hidden doorway that led to the cavern Melinda, Jim and I were traveling through. Across from the storage rooms were Erik's large bedroom, his dressing room where he stored all of his fine clothing and spare masks, and a music room with a small organ to play if he did not wish to be heard.

The library had a stove that was shared through a connecting wall with the kitchen in order to create warmth while cooking. My room, which I used whenever I stayed the night during long visits or holidays with Erik, was to the left of the library, and was warmed by the natural bubbling springs underneath the Opera House. Since the summer sun could not penetrate down five levels of stone, I had spent many summers down here, enjoying the perfect temperatures of Erik's home and reading in the library for hours at a time while he composed, painted, drew, or carved artwork.

'_Of course, those had been happier times_,' I thought to myself, halting before the hidden doorway and waiting for Jim and Melinda to catch up.

"Whew," Jim said, taking a deep breath. "Well, at least we avoided the traps, though I expected more than two."

"Erik had adjusted this passageway just for my use, so that I would not fall prey to his traps," I replied with a small smile. "Now, I'm afraid that I cannot trigger the mechanism for the door, so one of you will have to help me." Melinda instantly stepped forwards. "Alright, then, Melinda, push that little outcropping of stone very gently." I pointed to a place in the stone that seemed a bit more worn and polished than the walls surrounding it.

Melinda complied and almost instantly, the door swung open a crack. I quirked an eyebrow, since it should have opened completely, leaving a gaping doorway. However, much time had passed since this entryway had been opened, so I merely walked through the stone and waited as Jim and Melinda worked to open the door. While they pushed, I took a look around. It was pitch black, but from the beams that Jim and Melinda's flashlights were producing, the place was full of cobwebs and dust.

Finally, the door gave way and Jim and Melinda stepped in. Jim raised his flashlight and showed that the cavern had dozens of webs hanging from the walls and ceiling, the floor covered in dust and dead insects. I winced, barely holding back tears at the horrible mess that Erik's glorious home had turned into. Since I did not have to worry about cobwebs being stuck to me or about running into them, I stepped forwards, walking straight to the main room. I would not have to worry about light there, since Erik had created an ingenious way of using mirrors to reflect the day's sunlight down here so that he could save his candles for the evenings.

The place was a wreck, almost as though it had been torn apart. The films had claimed that a mob had descended down here either during or after the fire following _Don Juan_, but it did not seem as though a ruthless mob had destroyed it. In fact, the entire cavern looked perfectly fine and hospitable, save for the thick layer of dust covering everything. It appeared that someone had come back after the mob had finished (if the mob had even truly existed), restored the place, and lived here for quite some time. The place was still relatively intact, with only specific objects tossed about, torn apart, or even burned. Unable to look anymore, I quickly returned to the others.

Neither one of them had come very far inside due to the cobwebs, but they had still made it as far as the first storage room door on their left, which, to my surprise, was slightly ajar. I gave them a brief description of what was possibly inside of it, and Melinda reached for the knob. Since it was already open, she easily pushed it the rest of the way and took a peek inside, only to come right back out again, sneezing.

"Wow, it's really dusty in there," she said as she rubbed her nose with a finger.

"What did you see?" Jim asked.

Melinda shrugged. "Piles of cloth, papers, pens, dried-up inkwells, and a lot of other stuff that Celeste said was lying around in there," she replied. "I think that dust and age got to the cloth, though, which is a shame since they looked so lovely."

I smiled at her. "Well, if you'd like to take anything back with you, feel free to do so," I said, feeling generous. After all, it wasn't as though anyone else was going to use it. "I'm sorry about the lack of light. Erik had set up gas lights to run through here, stealing it from the Opera House, but with all of the cobwebs and with the amount of time that has passed, I doubt it will be a good idea to light them."

"Yeah, something might catch fire, and with all of the paper and stuff lying around, this place could go up fairly quickly," Jim said as he looked around. "Well, shall we keep exploring?"

Melinda and I nodded as he led the way to the next storage room. This one held more cloth, but since it had been sealed up underground, it was untouched by the ravages of time. Melinda seemed happy with the find, and since I had told her to keep anything she wanted, she made a note to ship it all back to her antique shop back in America. The third room yielded more pens and carving tools, though no cloth, much to Melinda's disappointment. However, it was my own bedroom that confused me…

Or rather….where the door to my room _should_ have been.

"It's a brick wall," Jim said. "Why would someone put a brick wall all the way down here?"

"This is where my room should be," I whispered as I looked closely at the wall. It was red brick, but it had elegantly carved designs on it, making it the most beautiful brick wall I had ever seen. "This was where I stayed during the summer months when it was too hot to sleep in the Opera House, or stayed overnight occasionally. Erik had made it for me. Why would he put a wall here?"

"Ah!" Melinda screamed. Jim and I whirled around to look at her. "There, on the ground!"

My eyes followed the beam of her flashlight to the floor. There, several feet away from the bricked-up doorway to my room lay a skeleton. Although it seemed to be dressed in clothing, the entirety of it was badly decomposed and blackened with age, and I couldn't help but wince as I moved forwards to get a closer look at the poor soul. It was lying face down on the floor, its right hand reaching desperately towards the bricked-up doorway that Jim and Melinda stood in front of.

"Who is it?" Melinda whispered, as though she were afraid that the body would jump up at her.

I shook my head. "I don't know," I replied.

"Here, let me help," Jim volunteered. "Um, I don't suppose there are any gloves down here…"

I couldn't hold back a wince. "Check Erik's room," I said, nodding towards his doorway.

Jim nodded and made his way there, carefully opening the door and going inside. After a few minutes, he emerged with a pair of soft leather gloves that were, amazingly, still intact.

"These were all I could find," he said. "I hope you won't mind."

"No, it's alright," I replied with a sigh. "Put them on and let us see who invaded and died in the Phantom's lair."

Melinda seemed to shiver at my words, and I couldn't help but grin. It had been a favorite hobby of mine to torment and frighten the ballet rats with the horrors of what was in "the Phantom's lair," which would often cause the girls to scream or cry out in terror. Madame always lectured me about it afterwards, but that never stopped me; after all, if it kept them from trying to find Erik's home, then so much the better! Meanwhile, Jim was slipping on the gloves, which seemed to fit him quite well.

"Wow, he really knew how to pick them," he commented as he flexed his fingers.

"Then keep them and whatever else you like of Erik's as payment for your troubles," I said, as I had no use of them.

Jim smiled at me in thanks and took a deep breath, preparing to turn the body over. Once he was ready, he reached out for the skeleton's shoulders and gently lifted, fully turning it onto its back and shocking me to the core.

"No," I gasped, stepping closer.

For the skeleton lying before me bore on the right side it its face…a white half-mask.

* * *

AN: Well, at least now you know where Erik ended up. You'll see what happened to him after _Don Juan_ in the next chapter, I promise. Review! 


	9. Erik's Fate

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Ghost Whisperer_** or **_Phantom_**. Only Celeste is mine.

AN: Yes, we finally find out what happened to Erik in this chapter! Thus, why I am updating so frequently…well, that and I want to finish this story so that I can start on the next one (which will be much better than this one, I promise). Thanks to everyone who's stuck with me through this story, and please review!

**Chapter 9: Erik's Fate:**

_Paris: 1870: After the Don Juan disaster_:

Erik awoke in a small sleeping chamber, one that was unfamiliar to him. A quick glance around showed that it was sparsely furnished, holding nothing more than a bed, a small bedside-table with a candle on it, a chair, and a wardrobe. A pounding was going on in his head as he tried to remember what had happened that lead him here. The words '_Don Juan'_ were the first things to enter his mind.

_Don Juan…the opera…Christine…the fire…Christine crying as he dragged her down to his underground lair…that fop the Vicompt…Christine leaving with the fop…_

Groaning, Erik turned onto his back and closed his eyes, willing himself to die. How could he have been so foolish as to think that kidnapping Christine would ease his loneliness, his aching heart, his torment? He had written _Don Juan_ in order to spill out his pent up frustrations and had shown it to the world, just so everyone would know how it felt to love, but never _be_ loved in return. It had been a masterpiece, something any composer could be proud of, and he had publicly displayed it!

'_But_ _I should not have interfered **in** it_,' Erik thought to himself, flinging an arm over his eyes.

Oh, but to watch the rehearsals and see that filthy pig named Piangi onstage touching Christine…it had infuriated Erik to the point that he had to put himself in the lead's place, just so he could touch her, feel her so close and to touch her soft curls around his fingers…just once…

'_Just before she pulled my mask off and destroyed me in a single movement_!' He growled and sat up, only to fall back onto the bed as his head felt ready to burst. "Damn it, why did it have to end this way?"

"Because she never loved you," a voice answered outside his head, indicating that he had spoken out loud.

Erik opened his eyes and gazed at the speaker, recognizing it as Madame Antoinette Giry, her ramrod-straight form filling the doorway. She gazed at him with cool, emotionless blue eyes as she moved forwards, a tray of food in her hands. Behind her trailed her little daughter, Meg, who tried to hide behind her mother as she carried a pitcher of water and an empty glass. Once the tray was on the table beside the bed, Meg set down her burdens and fled the room, leaving her mother alone with the Opera Ghost. Madame then went and shut the door, closing it firmly before turning to confront the man on the bed.

"Well, I certainly hope you're happy," she retorted, her face full of anger, sadness, and what appeared to be heartache. "Not only did you destroy the one place I called home, but also my means of providing a life for Meg! Do you not think of anyone or anything but yourself?"

"Why would I care about the world when the world refused to care about me?" Erik snarled in reply.

Antoinette drew herself up to her full height, and though she was far shorter than him, the air she carried intimidated him. "If I did not care about you, Erik, you would not be here," she replied in a tone cold enough to freeze water. "I could have easily left you to the gypsies to handle after you murdered one of their own. I could have simply you out there in the cold for the police to find, or let you stagger back to your lair where a bloodthirsty mob waited for you in order to destroy you. Instead, I did none of those. Therefore, you have no claim to the fact that no one cares about you."

Erik barely bit back a retort, instead allowing his savior to place the food tray across his lap so he could eat. It was a thin soup and a roll with butter, but it helped to ease away his painful headache. Once he was finished, Madame picked up the tray, but left the pitcher, heading for the door.

"Wait," he said. She turned around. "Where is Celeste? I want to see her."

She hesitated for a moment before opening the door and calling for Meg. The petite blonde girl appeared and accepted the tray that her mother silently handed to her, quickly scurrying away as her mother closed the door behind her. Erik watched as the ballet mistress heaved a heavy sigh before turning back to look at him.

"I do not know where Celeste is."

The words seemed to freeze Erik's lungs in his chest. "What do you mean you don't know?" he demanded, sitting up straight in the bed.

The cold look returned to Antoinette's eyes. "It means that I have no idea where she is," she retorted. "She was not outside with the mobs that fled the Opera House, and I have been unable to locate her at any other place that I can think of. I have even asked Raoul de Chagny," here Erik growled, "to use his numerous sources in help finding her. There has been no sign of Celeste in three days."

"Three days?" Erik whispered.

Madame nodded. "That is how long you've been unconscious." A tear dripped out of the corner of her eye. "Erik, there is the chance that Celeste…did not survive the fire."

"No." One of his hands came up and clamped over his chest, right above his heart. "No, it cannot be…"

"Erik, despite all of the searches, there is no sign of her," Madame said, her voice begging him to understand. "They are still shifting through the wreckage of the Opera House, and there is the chance that they-"

"They will not find her because she is not dead!" Erik roared as he leapt out of bed. "And if that infernal fop cannot find her, then the Phantom of the Opera will!"

Madame reached out and slapped him, shocking him back to the present. "Are you insane?" she snapped. "You have no mask, no clothes, nothing of your former glory days as the Phantom! If you go out there, people will know who you are!"

He took a deep breath to keep himself from strangling the woman before him. "I still have the money that the managers have been paying me over the years," he said, looking her in the eye. "You have access to those funds and you will withdraw enough to buy me clothes and supplies so that I may conduct a search of my own for Celeste. In return, you will be well rewarded, enough so that your precious Meg will not lack for anything."

With her darling Meg's future at stake, Madame Giry had no choice but to obey.

* * *

Armed with a fresh set of clothes, all of it black, from his shoes to his cloak, Erik tilted his wide-brimmed hat even more over his face so that his black mask did not show. Three days after awakening in the Giry home, and six days after the disaster, he was finally able to return to his cavern house on the lake beneath the Populaire. Rushing to the secret hidden entrance, Erik made sure no one was looking before slipping inside. 

The walk to the house was brief, and when he arrived, he was shocked to see that most of it had been left alone. A few hangings on the walls had been taken down and mirrors shattered in the attempt to locate him, and a few of his art pieces were missing or broken, but the rest was still sound. The doors to his storage rooms, the bedrooms, the library and his private music rooms had been created to withstand an earthquake, so there was no doubt that they were still untouched. Even the bed had been spared, as though they feared that the Phantom had cursed it with his touch.

'_Ignorant fools_,' Erik thought to himself as he tidied up.

He was done within and hour, and when finished, he headed outside to check for news on the survivors of the fire.

* * *

Celeste was not amongst those getting treated for injuries or burns in the hospital near the Opera House. Erik had spent the entire day waiting for his little errand boy to complete his work, and when the lad had reported back, it was to say that no one matched the drawing of Celeste that Erik had produced for comparison. Biting back a curse, Erik had paid the boy and gone on his way, returning back to Madame Giry's apartment several blocks away from the burned ruins of her former home. 

He silently entered the building and to the back, where Madame was lodged. He quietly unlocked the door and slipped inside on ghostly feet to avoid being heard. He was just slinking past the kitchen when he overheard weeping.

"Oh, Maman, is it true?" Meg's sweet voice cried out. "Is she really dead?"

'_Dead_?' Erik thought to himself. '_Who is dead_? _Oh, God, do not let it be Christine_!'

"I'm afraid so, my darling," Madame replied. "They discovered her body not long ago. I'm afraid that our dear Celeste did indeed die in the fire."

Erik nearly fell to his knees. Celeste, his dear, sweet, gentle Celeste was dead…and it was all his fault? Oh, God, what had he done?

'_But I had just seen her that night_, _before the performance_,' he thought to himself as he made his way to his room and shut the door behind him. '_She was sleeping on her bed, dressed like an angel…she had the white rose wreath on her head and that lovely white gown on…she was breathtaking…_'

Could it be true? But how could she have died? Surely she would have smelled the smoke, or heard the people screaming as they fled the building…

"Oh, Maman," he could hear Meg wail as she walked by towards her own room. "We never even got to say goodbye!"

"I know, my sweet," Madame comforted. "But I know that she did not die in agony. The doctors who inspected her body told me that she had taken a good dose of laudanum and had fallen into a peaceful sleep before the fire. Therefore, you need not fear that she had suffered a painful death."

Erik heard light retreating footsteps go down the hall and removed his outer clothes. He then stalked over to his door and swung it open, his hand reaching out to grab Madame Giry by the arm and haul her into his room. Antoinette gave a small exclamation of surprise, but allowed him to pull her in.

"What happened to Celeste?" he snarled as he threw the woman at the bed. She landed safely there, though he did not really care about her. "You are hiding something from me. Celeste did not have a habit of taking laudanum, nor did she have a condition that required it; this I know well. So what really happened?"

Madame stood from the bed and straightened out her skirts, her face going between indifference towards him and heartbreak at loosing her foster child. In the end, both emotions won out.

"She killed herself, Erik," she answered, looking up at him. He felt his heart collapse as Antoinette continued speaking. "The police found her body today, burned badly but still recognizable, in the section of the Populaire that housed the ballet rats and the chorus girls. It was quickly taken to the doctors, who performed one of those new-fangled autopsies. They thought it odd that she was clutching a bottle of laudanum in her hand, and when they examined it and found no burnt residue inside the bottle, they knew that she had consumed the whole thing."

Erik moved past her to sit down on his bed. "Suicide?" he whispered in shock, his head buried in his hands. "What could have possessed her to do such a thing?"

"Because…she was in love with you," Madame Giry replied softly.

His head instantly jerked up. "What?"

"Celeste was in love with you," she repeated. "Although I did not see much of her in her later days, I knew that she was pining for someone, and when I found one of your red roses, dried and preserved in her room the night before she died…" She heaved a sigh. "I knew it had to be you, since she disappeared so frequently and without any explanations. I could see the sparkle of love in her eyes every time you appeared or spoke out against something the managers did, and whenever someone spoke about you." Madame trailed off, causing Erik to glare harder at her.

"What else?" he demanded.

She sighed. "Erik, the light in her eyes…it began to grow sad and faint after you began to pursue Christine," she whispered. "Had I seen it sooner, had I not been trying to help save Christine, I would have helped her realize the fact that you did not care for her in return and helped her move onwards."

"Oh, God," Erik said, his voice sounding strangled as he dissolved into tears and collapsed backwards on the bed, rolling over to bury his head in his pillow.

He felt a soft, soothing hand on his head, but ignored it. Soon after, Madame left, gently closing the door behind her to give him some privacy. Glad to be alone with his thoughts, Erik closed his eyes.

'_She loved me_,' he thought. '_Celeste **loved** me, **wanted** me, and all I could see was Christine_.'

'**_You pushed her aside_**,' whispered a voice in the back of his head. '**_You tossed her away like garbage when you heard Christine sing, and left poor Celeste to fend for herself with no one to notice her and love her. You knew that Madame Giry was too busy with her own life, and that Meg had her ballet-rat friends.'_**

'_Shut up_!' Erik yelled inside his mind.

But the voice that he deemed his conscience would not stop.

'**_Not only that, but you knew that Christine wasn't meant for you the moment she saw her childhood sweetheart again, and you still pursued her_!** **_You helped to destroy not only the Opera House, but also Celeste's precious life_!**'

Erik couldn't hold back a wail of despair before he collapsed into a fit of sobs.

* * *

The next night, Erik carefully moved through the shadows, avoiding the light as he had for most of his life. Luckily it was late, just after midnight, and no one was about. He smiled, knowing that there might be a great row because of what he was about to do, but not caring. Instead, he slipped through a door that he had bribed to be kept open for him and into the building, keeping an ear and eye open for police or other human beings. Once he was convinced that there was no one about, he moved towards his destination. 

Slinking into the cold storage room, Erik searched though the bodies laid out on the tables. He knew most of the bodies belonging to the Opera fire were already buried and claimed…all, that is, except one…the one that would forever join him in his own eternal hell. Finding what he was searching for, Erik gently wrapped it in the white silk sheet he had brought with him, using his delicate artistic touch to be sure that no harm came to it.

Once that was finished, he carefully lifted it up and carried it out to the carriage waiting for him at the back doors.

* * *

It was illegal to snatch bodies from the hospital, but Erik could care less as he smuggled his precious cargo down to his home on the lake. Carefully avoiding the stone walls by using the widest passages, he managed to reach his home with little difficulty, using a hidden trigger in the floor to open the camouflaged stone doorway. Once the door was closed, Erik breathed a sigh of relief. 

"I have finally brought you home, my darling," he whispered to the silk-wrapped bundle as he entered the house.

Carrying his treasure into the spare bedroom that had once been Celeste's, he gently set it down on the fine stone pedestal that he had purchased and installed there. It was plain gray stone, but it had elegant roses, vines, fairies, and animals carved into it. He was sure that Celeste's body would be better preserved in the cold confines of his cave, and so had stolen it away before Madame Giry could get it and bury it in the hard, filthy ground.

'_Amazing what a large amount of money can do_,' he thought as he set the bundle on the pedestal.

It had been expensive to bribe a man at the hospital to fill what would have been Celeste's coffin with bricks and sandbags, sealing it tightly with nails so that Madame and Meg would not be able to look inside and discover that it was not, in fact, Celeste they were burying. A twinge of guilt shot through him, but Erik pushed it aside in favor of unwrapping the top of the silk shroud near the head, just so that he could look at Celeste's face one more time.

Amazingly, her face was well preserved. It was blistery and red where the fire had touched it, but the rest of her was blackened and burned so much that Erik could not bring himself to look at it. Celeste had borne a lovely figure, one full of womanly curves, and that was how he wanted to remember her. Wrapping her in white silk was the least he could do, though he longed to dress her as finely as she had been the night she had died.

Sighing, Erik reached out and caressed her forehead. "Forgive me for my sins against you," he whispered. "Forgive me for being so blind to the love you had for me, and for not seeing your heart and mine sooner."

Oh, how he wished she could hear him! But she was with the angels in Heaven, now, and could not do so. Now he would keep her body here with him, for he could not bear to see her buried so far away from him…he would keep her here in the house she loved so dearly, here with the man she had given her life away for…forever.

Kissing her brow, Erik rewrapped her with a gentle hand before going to set the first brick into place in the doorway, sealing out all intruders…even himself.

* * *

Time passed slowly, and Erik spent every waking moment in front of the brick wall to Celeste's burial chamber. He spent hours designing and carving designs into the brickwork, making it as beautiful as the woman who lay behind it. Sleep came fitfully, if it came at all, and food was something he partook in rarely. All Erik could think about was creating a beautiful monument to the woman who had loved him, despite all the terrible things he had done and the twisted man he had come to be. 

Finally, after nearly a year of perfecting it, the wall was finished. Garlands of flowers were carved around the top and sides, and swirling vines that were unbelievably lifelike twisted up the center of the brick, showing roses in various stages of bloom. Roses had been Celeste's favorite flower, and Erik had done all that he could to surround and protect her with them, much like the roses that guarded Sleeping Beauty's castle.

Once he was finished, Erik sent a final message to Madame Giry before he collapsed in front of the carved wall and died, clutching the gift he had wanted to give Celeste the night of _Don Juan_.

* * *

Antoinette Giry had been the one to find Erik's body the next day, stretched out as though reaching for his beloved Celeste. It broke her heart to know that he had been so blind to one woman's love in his obsession over another, but now it was too late. Instead, she left his remains there, having only his final wish and order to carry out; it would be many years before she would be able to do so. 

It was 1919 when she finally made her way to the cemetery. She would have come sooner, but a stroke three years prior, followed by the death of her darling Meg in Russia, had delayed her. The journey was swift, and upon arriving, the aging ballet mistress walked to the grave of her former pupil and foster child, Christine Daae. Laying down the red rose with a black ribbon tied through the diamond ring Erik had sent her, Antoinette finally released the memory of Christine from this world.

* * *

Deep beneath the floors of the Opera House, a body clutched a gold necklace and a pendant with the image of an angel on it. In the darkness of the caverns, his spirit forever guarded his domain and his most beloved treasure, surrounded in white silk and carved roses.

* * *

AN: Well, now you know what happened to poor Erik. More to come soon! 


	10. Spiritual Confrontations

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to **_Phantom of the Opera_** or **_Ghost Whisperer_**; I'm just borrowing them for further entertainment purposes (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers).

AN: One more chapter after this, and then this story is over. The next fic will be up soon (hopefully), so keep your eyes open! It'll be much better, I promise. Thanks, and please review!

**Chapter 10: Spiritual Confrontations**:

"Oh, Erik," I whispered as I knelt down beside him. My hand hovered just above the white mask, the one thing that had shut him away from the world. I sighed. "I'm so sorry, Erik."

I immediately hung my head, wishing so much that I could still cry. Sadness I could feel, but crying was a physical trait that mortals had, not spirits. If I had the power, I would weep a river for the man that I loved, even though I had no idea how he had died. It must have been quite some time after I had passed on, since I would recognize his artistic touch on the carved brick wall.

'_But still, why seal my old room up in the first place_?' I thought, still staring down at the masked corpse before me.

"Why did he seal up your room?" Melinda asked, mirroring my thoughts while kneeling beside me.

"Perhaps it was his way of preserving your memory?" Jim said. "Maybe he was so grief-stricken that he felt that he couldn't look at your possessions again and sealed them up with the brick wall. Then, when that was done, he carved the decorations into it as a sort of memorial."

I nodded my head. "It makes sense," I said, rising to stand, Melinda following my movements. "I know that he would not risk his life to see my grave at the cemetery, so he must have done all this in order to be near me somehow."

Turning to look at the house, I sighed. Now that I knew what Erik had done for me, I could not be angry at him. He had cared for me in some way, just not the way I wish he had. Perhaps, if I hadn't been such a coward, I could have talked some sense into him, or possibly even have helped Christine to see what a good man he was, even if it would have torn me up inside. Helping Erik win Christine might have killed my heart and spirit eventually, but at least Erik would have been happy.

"Uh, Celeste?" asked Jim, his voice startling me out of my thoughts.

I turned to look at him. "Yes?"

"Well, um," he said, shifting nervously. "The place is getting a bit…cold."

"It's because she's feeling sad," Melinda put in. "When spirits get emotional, things such as temperature can become…odd."

Closing my eyes, I calmed down. "I'm sorry," I apologized while opening my eyes. "I was thinking about…what might have been." I turned to look down on Erik's body.

Suddenly, I could feel that the girls were returning to their rooms in the dorms. Since I almost always greeted them there after rehearsals, I needed to be there. I looked towards my two friends.

"I'm sorry, but the girls are returning," I explained. "I need to go and meet them, otherwise they will think something is wrong and panic."

"Well, if you don't mind, I'd like to explore things a bit," Melinda said, glancing around. "Maybe I can take some of this back to the States with me?"

I thought about it. "Take anything you like, just leave anything made by Erik," I firmly replied. "They will have a rose insignia on it, so you will recognize it as his. The cavern will remain lit for a while, due to Erik's mirror system reflecting light down here, but not much longer. Keep your flashlights on." I paused for a moment. "Also, if you find it…leave the monkey music box."

With that, I transported myself to the dorms.

"Monkey music box?" Jim whispered once she was gone.

Melinda shrugged. "Well, if you see anything with a monkey on it, don't touch it," she said with a smile before going off to explore.

The cavern was dusty, but still amazing to look at. After walking past the rotting organ, Melinda found a large open space, one which held a large, elegant bed that was probably used whenever the artist was too tired to go to his room at night. There also stood half a dozen work tables covered in all sorts of art supplies. There were so many raw materials that hadn't been used, and all of it surrounded various projects in different stages of completion that were scattered about. There were busts of people being sculpted, wooden toys being carved, and even what appeared to be a jeweler's kit and supplies. Since Melinda couldn't find anything resembling jewelry, she decided that perhaps the Phantom had died before he could get started on it.

"I wonder how old he was when he died," she said aloud as she picked up a wooden figurine.

"He could have died any time," Jim remarked from the other side of the room, beside the bed. He picked up a corner and looked at the black sheets. "There's no way to tell how old he was or when he died, what with the body rotting and all."

**_You could try asking_**.

Melinda dropped the carved wooden rose she had been holding while Jim froze in his tracks. "Oh, crap," she said, looking around. The cavern was growing dark, meaning that the sun was setting outside. Very soon, both she and Jim wouldn't be able to see much with just their flashlights in the darkness of the cavern.

_**Language, mademoiselle, language...**_

The voice was definitely male, and he sounded trapped between being extremely upset and slightly amused at their situation.

"Melinda?" Jim called in the growing darkness. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she called back, switching on her flashlight to full power. "I know that this'll sound really wrong, Jim, but can you…come towards my flashlight?"

"You mean go towards the light?" Jim asked sarcastically. "Yeah, I can do that."

Melinda could hear the sound of his footsteps approaching and sighed, felling better as the beam of Jim's flashlight drew closer. She braced herself for when Jim would come and touch her arm to be sure she was okay, but what she wasn't ready for was the feeling of cold, ghostly hands grabbing her shoulders!

"Ah!" she screamed as the fingers tightened their grip, almost to the point of hurting her.

**_You dare to disturb my home and the resting place of the one I love?_** Melinda swallowed harshly, frightened by the anger in the voice behind her.

"Melinda?" Jim yelled as he came closer.

"Jim?" she cried, struggling to get free.

However, the ghostly hands just dug harder into her flesh, making her wince. In the back of her mind, Melinda knew that this had to be the ghost of the Phantom of the Opera. Obviously, Erik had not been able to move on after dying here, and was protecting his home from intruders. Why he was still here, she didn't know, but there was a way to find out. Of course, she'd have to break free, first…and she knew just the person to help her…

* * *

_**Celeste!**_

I gasped and hunched over, stopping all conversation in the dormitory. The girls around me instantly flew towards me, asking what was wrong and nearly panicking. I held a hand up for silence.

"I must go…someone needs me!" I gasped and teleported myself towards the feeling of urgency.

Almost instantly, I found myself in Erik's cave dwelling, and I knew it was here that someone needed me. Looking around, I was amazed to discover that I could see very well in the dark, so I began searching for Jim and Melinda. There Jim was, walking towards the struggling form of his wife, who was attempting to escape the clutches of a man. Furious that she was being handled this way, I leapt forwards and grabbed the male form, grasping his arms and pushing them away from Melinda. The man was surprised, to say the least, but when he made a grab at me, I cuffed him across the face, sending him backwards. Without warning, the man disappeared, leaving me in surprised silence.

"Melinda, are you alright?" I heard Jim ask her.

"I'm fine," she said. I could see her rubbing her shoulders in the light that was rapidly returning to the caves. "What happened? What's happening now? I thought it was getting dark outside."

"Why would it be getting dark outside?" I asked. "It is only mid-afternoon." I glanced around. "How odd…I had wondered why it was so dark down here at this time of day."

"It was the ghost," Melinda explained. "It was Erik, I know it was!"

At the sound of his name, I whirled around to face her. "That's impossible," I said, crossing my arms over my chest. "If Erik were here, I would have seen him."

"But you haven't set foot down here in over 130 years," Jim explained, his arms wrapping around his wife. "You said so yourself. If Erik were only haunting the caves, you'd never have seen him, no matter what."

They had me there. I'd never had a reason to return to the House on the Lake, and therefore would never have encountered Erik's spirit. If Erik was here, though, where was he?

"Erik?" I called out softly, glancing around. "Erik, are you here? It's me…Celeste."

A large, shapeless shadow seemed to flow out of the wall to my right and hover over the ground in front of me and Melinda, who stood to my left. Slowly, it began to take the form of a tall man, and began to show features and details. The body became firm and toned, covered in the evening dress of a man visiting the Opera House during my time, all of it black except for the white shirt and the gold buttons going up his black vest. As the face began to emerge, strong, handsome features with green eyes appeared, one of which looked out from behind a white mask.

It was Erik.

"Celeste?" he whispered, his voice soft and echoing, almost as though he were speaking across a vast distance.

A gloved hand reached out to touch my face in a slow, hesitant manner, as though he feared I would break or disappear if he should touch me. I smiled, remembering how, when I had been alive and visiting his home, Erik had always been scared to touch me unless I asked or gave him permission to. If I were to touch him first, he always welcomed it, as he had rarely had human contact throughout his life. Whenever Erik had come close to touching me first, however, he had always stopped, as though fearing that he would hurt me or that I would not want the touch of a man with a 'cursed face.' Now it was happening again.

Not waiting to think, I stepped into his touch, even as I reached out and touched his face. To my surprise, our hands didn't go through one another, and instead encountered warm skin. I felt my heart melt all over again, as though this were the first time I had realized that I loved him. Suddenly, I remembered how much despair I had suffered because of Erik, and the warmth in my heart drained away, leaving me empty and heartbroken once more. My hand dropped and I stepped away from him.

"Celeste?" Erik asked, confused as he tried to reach for me, his voice becoming warmer and more like its musical self. "Celeste, what is wrong, _petite_?"

"I can't," I whispered, hanging my head as my hands clutched over my heart. "I can't go through this again…" My eyes turned towards Melinda. "I cannot do this, Melinda…"

Melinda stepped forward. "Celeste, you have to do this," she whispered, her voice soft and comforting. "You have to tell him how you feel…how you felt about him."

"I already know," Erik softly replied, his voice soft and as beautiful as ever.

I looked up at him. "You know?" I said, suddenly turning angry. "You know…you _knew_ how I felt about you and you broke my heart on purpose?"

"I did not know until after the fire," he replied, stepping forwards, his green eyes focused on me. "Madame Giry told me how you loved me after she had discovered your suicide."

Had I possessed the ability to blanch, I would have. "She knew?" I asked in a small, frightened voice, my arms hanging at my sides. "Madame knew how I felt about you and how I truly died?"

Erik sighed and reached out, taking my hands before I could protest. "Madame told me that she had known for some time, but given my maddened state at the time, she feared more for Christine and Raoul's life and well-being. She did not think you were in danger of any sort. Had she known of your pain and thought you capable of suicide, Madame most certainly would have helped you."

The fact that he could say Raoul's name was a bit of a surprise to me. I quickly glanced down at my feet once more. "She must have been terribly angry at me for my actions," I whispered.

"She wept for you," Erik replied in an equally soft voice. "Both she and Meg wept for you, though it was **_I_** who died of a broken heart…it was **_I_** who had lost the one woman in the world who loved me for who I was and despite all that I had done." He released my hands and moved them to cup my face. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation of leather gloves against my skin. "Forgive me for being such a fool," he begged.

"Only if you forgive me the same," I said, opening my eyes to look into his. "I should have told you, but all you could think about was Christine, and then all of those things happened…"

"I know," Erik replied, pressing his forehead against my own. "But I realized my mistake in obsessing over Christine, though it was far too late. I could no longer bear staying alive after your death, but I lived just long enough to entomb your body here in the place that you loved most."

Confusion filled me as I quickly looked up at him. "What?"

Erik's green eyes bore into mine. "I could not bear the thought of you being in the ground, so I stole your body and brought it here to rest," he explained in a calm manner, as though he were speaking about the weather. "I wrapped your body in white silk and laid you on a stone pedestal carved with your favorite fairy tale images." His eyes glanced in the direction where my room had been before turning back to me. "I put brick in front of the door so that I would not be tempted to go inside and see you. After a year, I was finally able to finish carving and decorating the brick as a burial tomb resembling those of Egyptian princesses."

"You did all of that…for me?" I asked in awe and disbelief. "But…"

"I would not have you buried amongst strangers," Erik stubbornly declared as he released my face and instead wrapped his arms around my waist. "I would have you here, surrounded by beauty and forever in our home than any other place in the world."

Stunned at the efforts that he had taken to keep me so near to him, I responded the only way I knew how: I hugged him. Erik stiffened in surprise, but soon relaxed, pulling me tighter against him. A contented sigh escaped my lips as I snuggled against him.

"I love you, Erik," I whispered before I could stop myself.

"As I love you, Angel of my heart," he softly replied.

A sniff from behind us drew our attention. There stood Melinda and Jim, watching Erik and I with smiles on their faces. I couldn't help but blush as Melinda took out a tissue and began to dab her eyes as Jim wrapped an arm around her.

"I'm sorry, it's just…that was so _beautiful_!" she exclaimed as she wiped away her tears. Jim looked touched as well, though he looked a bit uncomfortable with the fact that he, too, could see what had occurred between myself and Erik.

As Erik and I turned to gaze at one another, we could both feel a warm light appear near us. I could feel love and warmth flow through me as I stared at it. Beside me, Erik tensed, his arms wrapping tightly around me as though he were frightened.

"Don't be afraid," Melinda said. "You can see The Light, can't you?"

I nodded. "It's so _warm_," I said in awe as I stared at it.

All around me I could hear voices calling for me to come towards it, beckoning me to join them where they were in welcome voices that were filled with love. Madame Giry's voice, however, practically ordered me to not forget Erik, which made me smile. I turned to look at the man I loved.

"Erik?" I whispered. He looked down at me. "Come with me."

"Are you sure that it is meant for a monster such as me?" he asked, one hand going to touch the masked side of his face. "Perhaps it is only you who should go, Angel, as I am sure that your family and friends are waiting for you."

I opened my mouth to argue, then stopped. Instead, I stood on my toes and kissed him, my arms locking around his neck as I poured all of my love and affection for him into the kiss. Erik stiffened in surprise, but quickly returned it, his lips soft and gentle as he passionately kissed me. I could feel his desperate need for me as he held be closer to him, our lips not once separating as our hearts and souls met. Suddenly, Erik jerked back, his hand going to the side of his face.

"Erik, what's wrong?" I asked, panicked. My hands clutched at him, turning him to face me as his right hand lowered from his face.

"I don't know," he replied. "I just felt something…_burn_ under my mask."

Concerned, I reached up and snatched off the mask before he could protest. What I saw there made me gasp. "Erik…your face…" He instantly looked hurt and frightened. "No, you don't understand…Erik…your face…it's perfect…"

As was his habit, Erik's hand jerked up to caress his right side, his eyes widening in surprise. Gone were the rough, red skin, the large bumps, and the eyelid that hung lower than the other. His hair was full and dark, and everything was in perfect proportion with his left side.

"A miracle," he whispered as he looked at me. "My Angel, you performed a miracle!" He quickly picked me up and whirled me around, causing me to squeal in delight. "Come, my beloved, my darling Celeste…let us go and meet our friends so that we may tell them of our love." Gently, he set me down on my feet, a look of joy on his face and his green eyes sparkling with mischief.

I laughed for a moment before laying a hand on his arm. "A moment?" I asked. He nodded. I turned around and faced Melinda and Jim. "Thank you for all that you have done for us," I said. "I hope that you will tell my girls that I love them and that I will see them again someday. Also, tell them that the other ghosts will help protect them in my place, but only if they believe in them."

"I will," Melinda said with a smile. "Now go. You two have waited a long time for this moment."

"Indeed we have," Erik said as he met my eyes.

I smiled and let him lead me to The Light, its warmth surround us both as we stepped into it.

* * *

AN: Yay, I made Erik and Celeste cross over! This chapter almost made me cry while writing it, since I always cry at the end of **_Ghost Whisperer_**, where the spirits are at peace with themselves so they can move on. Please let me know what you think before this story's over! Thanks! 


	11. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to **_Ghost Whisperer_** or **_Phantom_**. Only Celeste is mine.

AN: This is it, folks: the final chapter of this story! I have to say that, although it wasn't too popular with the readers, it was fun to do and it got the idea out of my head. Thanks to everyone who read and who reviewed afterwards! You people rock my world! I hope that you'll all be around when I post my next story, which will probably happen either next week or after Thanksgiving weekend. Thank again, and please review!

**Epilogue: There Really Is No Place Like Home**:

Glancing around the living room of their house, Melinda couldn't help but grin. Every bit of floor space was covered in packages, varying from palm-sized to large statue heads that needed their own crates. Thankfully, they didn't have to pay for any of it.

"I still can't believe how much money that Erik-guy had lying around his house," Jim said as he came up beside his wife. "I mean, the stuff was completely out in the open and anyone could have taken it without any trouble!"

"Well, he _did_ live in a cave, Jim," Melinda said, rolling her eyes. "Not to mention that it's a _secret_ cave surrounded by traps, so it wasn't as though anyone was going to head down there to rob it!"

"Touché," Jim replied, placing an affectionate kiss on her forehead. "You know, taking that Victorian Era money to that pawn shop was a good idea, but I sort of feel bad about doing it."

She smiled up at him. "Oh, I don't think you need to worry, since he won't need it anymore. Besides, there was so much of it that I gave some of it to the girls in the dormitories to keep or trade."

"Still, Victorian French money is sort of a poor compensation to losing a beloved friend and guardian," Jim said, pulling his wife into an embrace, his blue eyes staring into hers.

"That's true," she said with a sigh. "I felt terrible, making those girls cry like that, but most, if not all, of them were happy that Celeste finally found her true love and crossed over." A quirky smile pulled at Melinda's lips. "Plus, they got all sorts of neat things from the Erik's lair, especially since there's no way I could take all of that stuff back with me! I just don't have the space for it in the shop!"

"Well, maybe someday, when you expand, you could try and get some back from the girls," Jim said with a broad grin.

"Not likely," Melinda grumbled as she looked around. "I probably won't be able to sell most of this for a while, since no one will believe that they were actually made or owned by the legendary Phantom of the Opera!"

Jim was silent for a moment, and Melinda swore that she could hear him thinking very carefully. Keeping silent, she waited patiently for her husband to finish processing his thoughts. She had a feeling about what he was going to ask, but she wanted to be sure.

"So…" Jim said, obviously attempting to find the right words. "Why was I able to see the Phantom in the first place? I mean, Celeste I could understand, but the whole Phantom thing has me baffled."

"Well, considering the huge fan-base that the character has, it shouldn't be surprising that, since Erik chose to remain a spirit, his ghost would certainly be a powerful one," Melinda explained. "I mean, look at how powerful Celeste was with only ballerinas and chorus girls believing in her existence! Imagine what Erik could have, or _would_ have, done if he had discovered how powerful he had become because of the beliefs of so many people around the world!"

Jim shivered. "I'd rather not find out," he said as he released his wife and looked around the room. He then picked up one of the smaller packages lying on a small table. "Hey, wait a minute…this isn't something we took from the caves. It doesn't have our handwriting on the front, either."

Melinda looked over his shoulder at it. "It's even got a return address from France," she said. "I put the Opera House's dormitory's address on all of our stuff, just in case, but this one is different."

Taking a closer look at the handwritten return address, which was actually quite small, Jim managed to decipher it. "It's from Elise!" he exclaimed, opening the package.

"What?" Melinda blurted out, reaching to help Jim remove the cardboard box and the bubble wrap to get at the contents.

In no time, the packaging was on the floor and inside was a beautiful mahogany box with gold designs carved into it. Taped to the top of it was a folded piece of expensive stationary that Melinda removed to read. In an elegant scrawl was a note from Elise de Chagny.

* * *

_Dearest Jim and Melinda,_

_We would very much like to thank you for all that you did for our beloved guardian and friend, Celeste DeFrancq. Although we will miss her presence, her comforting words, and her kindness, we all knew that she would not remain with us forever. You have helped her find the peace and love that she longed to have for so long, and for that, we are grateful to you in her place. Since we now lack a protector, we have decided to follow Jim's advice to take classes to better defend ourselves, and have begun laying traps all around our dorms to better protect our virtues. _

_We would also like to thank you for helping us find the Phantom's cave, as well as all of the glorious things that left there for us to keep in memory of Celeste. Since your departure, we have secretly visited there often to leave flowers before our friend's brick tomb, paying our deepest respects to her and promising to pass down her story for generations to come. However, our greatest project was sealing up Erik's body in his bedroom with stone, just so that he would never again be separated from his beloved Celeste. The money you found and distributed to us was put to good use that way._

_There is also one other thing I should mention: after much exploration of the Opera Ghost's caves, the girls of the ballet and chorus discovered many wonderful and hidden treasures that you were unable to claim or find. Many included little trinkets that the Ghost likely meant to give to either Celeste or Christine, though we know not which, since they all had a marking with a 'C' carved on it and no clear indication for whom it was specifically made. However, with this particular piece, we instantly knew who it was created for. As a way for you to remember the time you spent here at the Opera House, we decided that perhaps you deserved this more than any of us did._

_Yours truly,_

_Elise de Chagny_

* * *

Inside the box was a framed painting of Celeste in a lovely white wedding gown and a veil upon her head. Beside her stood Erik, his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist, the two lovers beaming happily from the canvas. Melinda smiled back and propped it up on a nearby table as Jim kissed her forehead affectionately.

* * *

AN: The end! Thanks again for reading and reviewing, and I'll see you all soon! Later! 


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